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PLAYS 


FOURTH  SERIES     ^ 


A  BIT  O'  LOVE 

THE  FOUNDATIONS 

THE  SKIN  GAiME 


BY  X 

JOHN  GALSWORTHY 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1920 


Copyright,  1915,  1920,  bt 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


PR 


So 
H.  W.  MASSINGHAM 


PERSONS  OF  THE  PLAY 

Michael  Strangwat 

Beatrice  Strangwat 

Mrs.  Bradmere 

Jim  Bere 

Jack  Cremer 

Mrs.  Burlacombe 

burlacombe 

Trustaford 

Jarland 

Clyst 

Freman 

godleigh 

Sol  Potter 

Morse,  and  Others 

I\Tr  Burlacombe 
Connie  Trustaford 
GL.VDY3  Freman 
Mercy  Jarland 
TiBBY  Jarland 
Bobbie  Jarland 


SCENE:    A  VILLAGE  OF  THE  WEST 

The  Action  passes  on  Ascension  Day. 


ACT  I.  Str-vngway's  rooms  at  Buel-^combe's.     Morning. 

ACT  II. 

SCEXE  I.  The  Village  Inn. 

SCENE  II.  The  same. 

SCENE  III.  Outside  the  church.  I  Evening. 

ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.  Straxgwat's  rooms. 
SCENE  II.  Burlacombe's  barn. 


A  BIT  O'  LOVE 
A  PLAY  IN  THREE  ACTS 


I 


ACT  I  A  BIT  0'  LOVE  3 

Strangway.  Good  morning,  Gladys;    good  morn- 
ing, Connie. 

He  turns  to  a  hook-case  on  a  table  against  the 
far  wall,  and  taking  out  a  book,  finds  his 
place  in  it.  While  he  stands  thus  with  his 
back  to  the  girls,  Mercy  Jaeland  comes  in 
from  the  green.  She  also  is  about  sixteen, 
with  fair  hair  and  china-blue  eyes.  SJie 
glides  in  quickly,  hiding  something  behind 
her,  and  sits  down  on  the  seat  next  the  door. 
And  at  once  there  is  a  whispering. 
Strangway.  [Turning  to  them]  Good  morning, 
Mercy. 

Mercy.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Strangway. 
Str-Os'GWay.  Now,  yesterday  I  was  telling  you  what 
our  Lord's  coming  meant  to  the  world.  I  want  you 
to  understand  that  before  He  came  there  wasn't  really 
love,  as  we  know  it.  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  there 
weren't  many  good  people;  but  there  wasn't  love  for 
the  sake  of  loving.  D'you  think  you  understand  what 
I  mean? 

Mercy  fidgets.    Gladys's  eyes  are  following 
a  fly. 
Ivy.  Yes,  Mr.  Strang^vay. 

Strangway.  It  isn't  enough  to  love  people  because 
they're  good  to  you,  or  because  in  some  way  or  other 
you're  going  to  get  something  by  it.  "We  have  to  love 
because  we  love  loving.  That's  the  great  thing— 
without  that  we're  nothing  but  Pagans. 
Gladys.  Please,  what  is  Pagans  ? 


4  A  BIT  O'  LOVE  ACT  i 

Strangway.  That's  what  the  first  Christians  called 
the  people  who  lived  in  the  villages  and  were  not  yet 
Christians,  Gladys. 

Mercy.  We  live  in  a  village,  but  we're  Christians. 

Strangway.  [With  a  smile]  Yes,  Mercy;  and  what 
is  a  Christian? 

Mercy  kicks  afoot  sideways  against  her  neigh- 
bouTy  froivns  over  her  china-blue  eyes,  is 
silent;  then,  as  his  question  passes  on, 
makes  a  quick  little  face,  wriggles,  and  looks 
behind  her. 

Strangway.  Ivy.^ 

Ivy.  'Tis  a  man — whii — whii 

Strangway.  Yes  .^ — Connie  ? 

CoNTs^E  [Who  speaks  rather  thickly,  as  if  she  had  a 
permanent  slight  cold]  Please,  Mr.  Strangway,  'tis  a 
man  whii  goes  to  church. 

Gladys.  He  'as  to  be  baptized — and  confirmed; 
and — and — buried . 

Ivy.  'Tis  a  man  whii — whii's  giide  and 

GiADYS.  He  don't  drink,  an'  he  don't  beat  his 
horses,  an'  he  don't  hit  back. 

Mercy.  [Whispering]  'Tisn't  your  turn.  [To  Strang- 
way] 'Tis  a  man  like  us. 

Ivy.  I  know  what  Mrs.  Strangway  said  it  was, 
'cause  I  asked  her  once,  before  she  went  away. 

Strangway.  [Startled]  Yes? 

Ivy.  She  said  it  was  a  man  whii  forgave  every- 
thing. 


ACT  I  A  BIT  O'  LOVE  5 

Strangwat.  Ah! 

The  note  of  a  cuckoo  comes  travelling.  The 
girls  are  gazing  at  Stilixgway,  who  seems 
to  have  gone  of  into  a  dream.  They  begin 
to  fidget  and  whisper. 

CoxxiE.  Please,  ^Mr.  Strangway,  father  says  if  yii      ^ 
hit  a  man  and  he  don't  hit  yii  back,  he's  no  giide  at  all. 

Mercy.  When  Tommy  Morse  wouldn't  fight,  us 
pinched  him — he  did  squeal!  [She  giggles]  Made  me 
laugh ! 

Strangway.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  about  St.  Francis 
of  Assisi? 

I-VT.  [Clasping  her  hands]  No. 

Strangway.  Well,  fie  was  the  best  Christian,  I 
think,  that  ever  lived— simply  full  of  love  and  joy. 

Ivy.  I  expect  he's  dead. 

Strangway.  About  seven  hundred  years.  Ivy. 

I^-Y.  [Softly]  Oh! 

Str-^ngway.  Everything  to  him  was  brother  or  sis- 
ter— the  sun  and  the  moon,  and  all  that  was  poor 
and  weak  and  sad,  and  animals  and  birds,  so  that 
they  even  used  to  follow  him  about. 

Mercy.  I  know !    He  had  crumbs  in  his  pocket. 

Strangway.  No;   he  had  love  in  his  eyes. 

Ivy.  'Tis  like  about  Orpheus,  that  yii  told  us. 

Strangway.  Ah !  But  St.  Francis  was  a  Christian, 
and  Orpheus  was  a  Pagan. 

I\-r.  Oh! 

Strangway.  Orpheus  drew  everything  after  him 
with  music;   St.  Francis  by  love. 


6  A  BIT  0'  LOVE  act  i 

Ivy.  Perhaps  it  was  the  same,  really. 

Strakgway.  [Looking  at  his  flute]  Perhaps  it  was. 
Ivy. 

Gladys.  Did  'e  'ave  a  flute  like  yii  ? 

Ivy.  The  flowers  smell  sweeter  when  they  'ear 
music;   they  du. 

[She  holds  up  the  glass  of  floivers. 

Strangway.  [Touching  one  of  the  orchis]  ^Yhat's  the 
name  of  this  one? 

The  girls  cluster,  save  Mercy,  who  is  taking 
a  stealthy  interest  in  ichat  she  has  behind 
her. 

Connie.  We  call  it  a  cuckoo,  Mr.  Strangway. 

Gladys.  'Tis  awful  common  down  by  the  streams. 
We've  got  one  medder  where  'tis  so  thick  almost  as 
the  goidie  cups. 

Strangw^ay.  Odd !     I've  never  noticed  it. 

Ivy.  Please,  Mr.  Strangway,  yii  don't  notice  when 
yii're  walkin';   \ii  go  along  like  this. 

[She  holds  up  her  face  as  one  looking  at  the  sky. 

Strangway.  Bad  as  that.  Ivy  ? 

Ivy.  Mrs.  Strangway  often  used  to  pick  it  last 
spring. 

Strangway.  Did  she  ?    Did  she  ? 

[He  has  gone  off  again  into  a  kind  of  dream. 

Mercy.  I  like  being  confirmed. 

Strangway.  Ah!  Yes.  Now—  What's  that  be- 
hind you,  Mercy? 

Mercy.  [Engagingly  producing  a  cage  a  little  bigger 
than  a  mouse4rap,  containing  a  skylark]  My  skylark. 


ACT  I  A  BIT  0'  LOVE  7 

Strangway.  Wi^ai ! 

Mercy.  It  can  fly;  but  we're  goin'  to  clip  its  wings. 
Bobbie  caught  it. 

Strangway.  How  long  ago.'' 

Mercy.  [Conscious  of  impending  disaster]  Yester- 
day. 

Strangway.  [White  hot]  Give  me  the  cage ! 
Mercy.  [Puckering]  I  want  my  skylark.  [^45  he  steps 
up  to  her  and  takes  the  cage — thoroughly  alarmed]  1  gave 
Bobbie  thrippence  for  it ! 

Strangway.  [Producing  a  sixpence]  There ! 
Mercy.  [Throwing    it    down — passionately]  I    want' 
my  skylark! 

Strangway.  God  made  this  poor  bird  for  the  sky 
and  the  grass.  And  you  put  it  in  that!  Never  cage 
any  wild  thing  !     Never  ! 

Mercy.  [Faint  and  sullen]  I  want  my  skylark. 
Strangway.  [Taking    the    cage    to    the    door]  No ! 
[He  holds  up  the  cage  and  opens  it]  OS  you  go,  poor 
thing ! 

[The  bird  flies  out  and  away. 
The    girls    watch    with    round    eyes    the  fling 
up   of  his  arm,   and  the  freed   bird  flying 
away. 
Ivy.  I'm  glad ! 

Mercy  kicks  her  viciously  and  sobs.  Strang- 
way comes  from  the  door,  looks  at  Mercy 
sobbiiig,  and  suddenly  clasps  his  head.  The 
girls  watch  him  icith  a  queer  mixture  of 
wonder y  alarm,  and  disapproval. 


8  A  BIT  0'  LOVE  act  i 

Gladys.  [Whispering]  Don't  cry,  Mercy.     Bobbie'll 
soon  catch  yli  another. 

Strangway  has  dropped  his  hands,  and  is  look- 
ing again  at  Mercy.  Ivy  »its  with  hands 
clasped,  gazing  at  Str.^'GWAY.  ]Mercy 
coniinues  her  artificial  sobbing. 

Strangway.  [Quietly]  The  class  is  over  for  to-day. 

Be  goes  up  to  Mercy,  and  holds  out  hi^  hand. 

She  does  not  take  it,  and  runs  out  knuckling 

her  eyes.     Strangway  turns  on  his  heel  and 

goes  into  the  house. 

Connie.  'Twasn't  his  bird. 

Ivy.  Skylarks  belong  to  the  sky.     Mr.  Strangway 
said  so. 

Gk^dys.  Not  when  they'm  caught,  they  don't. 

I^^.  They  dii. 

Connie.  'Twas  her  bird. 

I\T^.  He  gave  her  sixpence  for  it. 

Gladys.  She  didn't  take  it. 

Connie.  There  it  is  on  the  ground. 

Ivy.  She  might  have. 

Gl.\dys.  He'll  p'raps  take  my  squirrel,  tu. 

Iv-Y.  The  bird  sang— I  'card  it!     Right  up  in  the 
sky.     It  wouldn't  have  sanged  if  it  weren't  glad. 

Gladys.  Well,  Mercy  cried. 

Ivy.  I  don't  care. 

Gladys.  'Tis  a  shame!    And  I  know  something. 
Mrs.  Strangway's  at  Durford. 

CoN'NiE.  She's — never! 

Gladys.  I  saw  her  yesterday.    An'  if  she's  there 


ACT  I  A  BIT  0'  LOVE  9 

she  ought  to  be  here.  I  told  mother,  an'  she  said: 
"Yii  mind  yer  business."  An'  when  she  goes  in  to 
market  to-morrow  she'm  goin'  to  see.  An'  if  she's 
really  there,  mother  says,  'tis  a  fine  tii-dii  an'  a  praaper 
scandal.     So  I  know  a  lot  more'n  yii  dii. 

[Ivy  stares  at  her. 

Connie.  Mrs,  Strangway  told  mother  she  was  goin' 
to  France  for  the  wmter  because  her  mother  was  ill. 

Gladys.  'Tisn't  winter  now — Ascension  Day.  I 
saw  her  comin'  out  o'  Dr.  Desart's  house.  I  know 
'twas  her  because  she  had  on  a  blue  dress  an'  a  proud 
liike.  Mother  says  the  doctor  come  over  here  tli 
often  before  Mrs.  Strangway  went  away,  just  afore 
Christmas.  They  was  old  sweethearts  before  she 
married  Mr.  Strangway.  [To  Iyy]  'Twas  yiire  mother 
told  mother  that. 

[I\'Y  gazes  at  them  more  arid  more  wide-eyed. 

Connie.  Father  says  if  Mrs.  Bradmere  an'  the  old 
Rector  knew  about  the  doctor,  they  wouldn't  'ave 
Mr.  Strangway  'ere  for  curate  any  longer;  because 
mother  says  it  takes  more'n  a  year  for  a  glide  wife 
to  leave  her  'usband,  an'  'e  so  fond  of  her.  But 
'tisn't  no  business  of  ours,  father  says. 

Gladys.  Mother  says  so  tli.  She's  praaper  set 
against  gossip.  She'll  know  all  about  it  to-morrow 
after  market. 

I\-Y.  [Stamping  her  foot]  I  don't  want  to  'ear  nothin' 
at  all;   I  don't,  an'  I  won't. 

[A  rather  shame-faced  silence  falls  on  the  girls. 


10  A  BIT  0'  LOVE  act  i 

Gladys.  [In  a  quick  whisper]  'Ere's  Mrs.  Burla- 
combe. 

There  enters  from  the  house  a  stout  motherly 
woman  with  a  round  grey  eye  and  very  red 
cheeks. 

IVIrs.  Burlacombe.  Ivy,  take  Mr.  Strangway  his 
ink,  or  we'll  never  'ave  no  sermon  to-night.  He'm  in 
his  thinkin'  box,  but  'tis  not  a  bit  o'  ylise  'im  thkikin' 
without  'is  ink.  [She  hands  her  daughter  an  inkpot  and 
blotting-pad.  Ivy  Takes  them  and  goes  out]  What- 
ever's  this.''  [She  picks  up  the  little  bird-cage. 

Gladys.  'Tis  Mercy  Jarland's.  Mr.  Strangway  let 
her  skylark  go. 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  Aw  !  Did  'e  now  ?  Serve  'er 
right,  bringin'  an  'eathen  bird  to  confirmation  class. 

Connie.  I'll  take  it  to  her. 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  No.  Yii  leave  it  there,  an'  let 
Mr.  Strangway  dli  what  'e  likes  with  it.  Bringin'  a 
bird  like  that !    Well  I  never ! 

The  girls,  perceiving  that  they  have  lighted  on 
stony  soil,  look  at  each  other  and  slide  towards 
the  door. 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  Yes,  jii  just  be  off,  an'  think 
on  what  yii've  been  told  in  class,  an'  be'ave  like  Chris- 
tians, that's  glide  maids.  An'  don't  jii  come  no  more 
in  the  'avenin's  dancin'  them  'eathen  dances  in  my 
barn,  naighther,  till  after  yli'm  confirmed — 'tisn't  right. 
I've  told  Ivy  I  won't  'ave  it. 

Connie.  Mr.  Strangway  don't  mind — he  likes   us 


ACT  I  A  BIT  O'   L0\^  11 

to;    'twas  Mrs.  Strangway  began  teachin'  us.     He's 
goin'  to  give  a  prize. 

Mrs.  Buri^^combe.  Yii  just  dU  what  I  tell  yii  an' 
never  mind  Mr.  Strang\^'ay — he'm  tli  kind  to  every- 
one. D'yli  think  I  don't  know  how  gells  oughter 
be'ave  before  confirmation .'  Yii  be'ave  like  I  did  ! 
Now,  goo  ahn  !     Shoo  ! 

She  hustles  them  out,  rather  as  she  might  hustle 

her  chickens,  and  begins  tidying  the  room. 

There  comes  a  wandering  figure  to  the  open 

window.     It  is  tliat  of  a  man  of  about  thirty - 

five,  of  feeble  gait,  leaning  the  weight  of  all 

one  side  of  him  on  a  stick.     His  dark  face, 

with  black  hair,  one  lock  of  which  has  gone 

white,  was  evidently  once  that  of  an  ardent 

man.     Now  it  is  slack,  weakly  smiling,  and 

the  brovm  eyes  are  lost,  and  seem  always  to 

be  asking  something   to   which   there  is   no 

answer. 

'Mrs.    Burh^combe.  [With   that  forced   cheerfidness 

always   assumed   in   the  face   of  too  great   misfortune] 

Well,    Jim!   better?  [At   the  faint   brightening   of  the 

smile]  That's  right !     Yii'm  gettin'  on  bravely.     ^Yant 

Parson  ? 

Jni.  [Sodding  and  smiling,  and  speaking  sloicly]  I 
want  to  tell  'un  about  my  cat. 

[His  face  loses  its  smile. 
'Mrs.  Burlvcombe.  Why !  what's  she  been   diiin' 
then  ?     Mr.  Strangway's  busy.     Won't  I  dii  ? 
Jm.  [Shakijig  his  head]  No.     I  want  to  tell  him. 


12  A  BIT  O'   LOVE  act  i 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  Whatever  she  been  diiin'? 
Havin'  kittens? 

Jim.  No.    She'm  lost. 

Mrs.  Burl.'^combe.  Dearie  me!  Aw!  she'm  not 
lost.     Cats  be  like  maids;    they  must  get  out  a  bit. 

Jim.  She'm  lost.     Maybe  he'll  know  where  she'll  be. 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  Well,  well.    I'll  go  an'  find  'im. 

Jim.  He's  a  glide  man.     He's  very  glide. 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  That's  certain  zure. 

Strangway.  [Entering  from  the  house]  Mrs.  Burla- 
combe, I  can't  think  where  I've  put  my  book  on  St. 
Francis — the  large,  squarish  pale-blue  one  ? 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  Aw  !  there  now !  I  knli  there 
was  somethin'  on  me  mind.  Miss  Willis  she  came  in 
yesterday  afterniine  when  yii  was  out,  to  borrow  it. 
Oh !  yes — I  said — I'm  zure  Mr.  Strangway'U  lend 
it  'ee.    Now  think  o'  that ! 

Strangway.  Of  course,  Mrs.  Burlacombe;  very 
glad  she's  got  it. 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  Aw  !  but  that's  not  all.  When 
I  tuk  it  up  there  come  out  a  whole  flutter  o'  little 
bits  o'  paper  wi'  little  rhymes  on  'em,  same  as  I  see 
yli  writin'.  Aw !  my  glideness !  I  says  to  meself, 
Mr.  Strangway  widn'  want  no  one  seein'  them. 

Strangway.  Dear  me !    No;   certainly  not! 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  An'  so  I  putt  'em  in  your 
secretary. 

Strangway.  My — ah!    Yes.    Thank  you;   yes. 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  But  I'll  goo  over  an'  get  the 
blike  for  yii.     'T  won't  take  me  'alf  a  minit. 


ACT  I  A  BIT  0'   LOVE  13 

She  goes  out  on  to  the  green.  Jni  Bere  has 
come  in. 

Stilvxgway.  [Gently]  Well,  Jim? 

Jm.  My  cat's  lost. 

Str-A-NGWay.  Lost? 

Jni.  Day  before  yesterday.  She'm  not  come  back. 
They've  shot  'er,  I  think;  or  she'm  caught  in  one  o' 
they  rabbit-traps. 

Strangway.  Oh!  no;  my  dear  fellow,  she'll  come 
back.     I'll  speak  to  vSir  Herbert's  keepers. 

Jni.  Yes,  zurr.     I  feel  lonesome  without  'er. 

Strangway.  [With  a  faint  smile — more  to  himself 
than  to  Jm]  Lonesome!  Yes!  That's  bad,  Jim! 
That's  bad ! 

Jim.  I  miss  'er  when  I  sits  thar  in  the  avenin'. 

Strangway.  The  evenings —  They're  the  worst — 
and  when  the  blackbirds  sin^  in  the  morning. 

Jm.  She  used  to  lie  on  my  bed,  ye  know,  zurr. 
[Strangway  turns  his  face  away,  contracted  with 
pain]  She'm  like  a  Christian. 

Strangwj^y.  The  beasts  are. 

Jm.  There's  plenty  folk  ain't  'alf  as  Christian  as 
'er  be. 

Strangway,  Well,  dear  Jim,  I'll  do  my  very  best. 
And  any  time  you're  lonely,  come  up,  and  I'll  play 
the  flute  to  you. 

Jm.  [Wriggling  slightly]  Xo,  zurr.     Thank  'ee,  zurr. 

Strangway.  AMiat — don't  you  like  music? 

Jm.  Ye-es,  zurr.  [.4  figure  passes  the  idndoic. 
Seeing  it  he  says  with  his  slow  smile:    "'Ere's  Mrs. 


y 


14  A   BIT  0'   LOVE  act  i 

Bradmere,  comin'  from  the  Rectory."  [With  queer 
7nalice]  She  don't  like  cats.  But  she'm  a  cat  'erself, 
I  think. 

Str-'^'Gway.  [With  his  smile]  Jim ! 
Jim.  She'm  always  tellin'  me  I'm  liikin'  better.     I'm 
not  better,  zurr. 

Strangway.  That's  her  kindness. 
Jevi.  I  don't  think  it  is.     'Tis  laziness,  an'   'avin' 
'er  own  way.     She'm  very  fond  of  'er  own  way. 

A  knock  on  the  door  cuts  off  his  speech.     Fol- 
lowing closely  on  the  knock,  as  though  no 
doors  were  licensed  to  be  closed  against  her, 
a  grey-haired  lady  enters;  a  capable,  brown- 
faced  woman  of  seventy,  whose  every  tone  and 
movement   exhales   authority.     With    a    nod 
and  a  "good  morning"  to  Strangway  she 
turns  at  once  to  Jem  Bere. 
;Mrs.  Bradmere.  Ah !  Jim;    you're  looking  better. 
[Jiii  Bere  shakes  his  head. 
Mrs.   Bradmere.  Oh!  yes,  you   are.     Getting  on 
splendidly.     And  now,  I  just  want  to  speak  to  Mr. 
Strangway. 

Jim   Bere   touches   his  forelock,   and   slowly, 
leaning  on  his  stick,  goes  out. 
IMrs.  Bradmere.  [Waiting  for  the  door  to  close]  You 
know  how  that  came  on  him?     Caught  the  girl  he 
was  engaged  to,  one  night,  with  another  man,  the 
rage  broke  something  here.  [She  touches  her  forehead] 
Four  years  ago. 
Strangway.  Poor  fellow ! 


ACT  I  A  BIT  O'   LOVE  15 

IVIrs.  Bradmere.  [Looking  at  him  sharply]  Is  your 
wife  back? 

Strangway.  [Starting]  No. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  By  the  way,  poor  Mrs.  Cremer — 
is  she  any  better.'' 

Strangway.  No;  going  fast.   \Yonderful — so  patient. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  [With  gruff  sympathy]  Um !  Yes. 
They  know  how  to  die!  [With  another  sharp  look  at 
him]  D'you  expect  your  wife  soon  ? 

Strangway.  I — I — hope  so. 

]Mrs.  Bradmere.  So  do  I.     The  sooner  the  better. 

Strangway.  [Shrinking]  I  trust  the  Rector's  not 
sufifering  so  much  this  morning  ? 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  Thank  you  !  His  foot's  very  bad. 
As  she  speaks  Mrs.  BuRLACOiiBE  returns  with 
a  large  pale-blue  hook  in  her  hand. 

!Mrs.  Burlacombe.  Good  day,  M'm!  [Taking  the 
hook  across  to  Strangway]  Miss  "Willis,  she  says  she'm 
very  sorry,  zurr. 

Strangway.  She  was  very  welcome,  Mrs.  Bur- 
lacombe. [To  Mrs.  Bradmere]  Forgive  me — my 
sermoD.  [Be  goes  into  the  house. 

The  two  women  gaze  after  Mm.  Then,  at  once, 
as  it  were,  draw  into  themselves,  as  if  pre- 
paring for  an  encounter,  and  yet  seem  to 
expand  as  if  losing  the  need  for  restraint. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  [Abruptly]  He  misses  his  wife  very 
much,  I'm  afraid. 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  Ah!  Don't  he?  Poor  dear 
man;    he  keeps  a  terrible  tight  'and  over  'imself,  but 


16  A   BIT  O'   LOVE  act  i 

'tis  suthin'  cruel  the  way  he  walks  about  at  night. 
He'm  just  like  a  cow  when  its  calf's  weaned.  T'a^ 
gone  to  me  'eart  truly  to  see  'im  these  months  past. 
T'other  day  when  I  went  up  to  dii  his  riime,  I  yeard 
a  noise  like  this  [she  sniffs];  an'  ther'  'e  was  at  the 
wardrobe,  snuffin'  at  'er  things.  I  did  never  think  a 
man  cud  care  for  a  woman  so  much  as  that. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  H'm ! 

]\Irs.  Burlacombe.  'Tis  funny  rest — an'  'e  comin' 
'ere  for  quiet  after  that  tearin'  great  London  parish! 
'E'm  terrible  absent-minded  tii — don't  take  no  inter- 
est in  'is  flide.  Yesterday,  goin'  on  for  one  o'clock, 
'e  says  to  me,  *T  expect  'tis  nearly  breakfast-time, 
jNIts.  Burlacombe!"     'E'd  'ad  it  twice  already! 

!Mrs.  Br.\dmere.  Twice  !     Nonsense  ! 

Mrs.  Burl.\combe.  Zurely !  I  give  'im  a  nummit 
afore  'e  gets  up;  an'  'e  'as  'is  brekjus  reg'lar  at  nine. 
Must  feed  un  up.  He'm  on  'is  feet  all  day,  goin'  to 
zee  folk  that  widden  want  to  zee  an  angel,  they'm 
that  busy;  an'  when  'e  comes  in  'e'll  play  'is  fliite 
there.  He'm  wastin'  away  for  want  of  'is  wife.  That's 
what  'tis.  An'  'im  so  sweet-spoken,  tii,  'tes  a  pleasure 
to  year  'im —    Never  says  a  word ! 

INIrs.  Bradmere.  Yes,  that's  the  kind  of  man  who 
gets  treated  badly.  I'm  afraid  she's  not  worthy  of 
him,  Mrs.  Burlacombe. 

jMrs.  Burlacombe.  [Plaiting  her  apron]  'Tesn't  for 
me  to  zay  that.     She'm  a  very  pleasant  lady. 

jVIrs.  Bradmere.  Too  pleasant.  What's  this  story 
about  her  being  seen  in  Durford  ? 


ACT  I  A   BIT   0'   LOVE  17 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  Aw  !  I  dii  never  year  no 
gossip,  m'm. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  [Drily]  Of  course  not !  But  you 
see  the  Rector  wishes  to  know. 

Mrs.  BtTRLAcoMBE.  [Flustered]  Well — folk  will  talk ! 
But,  as  I  says  to  Burlacombe — "'Tes  paltry,"  I  says; 
and  they  only  married  eighteen  months,  and  Mr. 
Strangway  so  devoted-like.  'Tes  nothing  but  love, 
with  'im. 

'Mrs,.  BR.4.DMERE.  Come! 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  There's  puzzivantin'  folk  as'll 
set  an'  gossip  the  feathers  off  an  angel.  But  I  dli 
never  listen. 

IVIrs.  Br.idmere.  Now  then,  Mrs.  Burlacombe.'' 

Mrs.  BuRL.\coMBE.  Well,  they  dii  say  as  how  Dr. 
Desart  over  to  Durford  and  Mrs.  Strangway  was 
sweethearts  afore  she  wer'  married. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  I  knew  that.  "VMio  was  it  saw 
her  coming  out  of  Dr.  Desart's  house  yesterdaj'  ? 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  In  a  manner  of  spakin'  'tes 
Mrs.  Freman  that  says  'er  Gladys  seen  her. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  That  child's  got  an  eye  like  a 
hawk. 

iSlRS.  BURL.A.COMBE.  'Tcs  wouderful  how  things  dii 
spread.  'Tesn't  as  if  us  gossiped.  Dii  seem  to  grow- 
like  in  the  naight. 

IMrs.  Bradmere.  [To  herself]  I  never  liked  her. 
That  Riviera  excuse,  Mrs.  Burlacombe —  Very  con- 
venient things,  sick  mothers.  Mr.  Strangway  doesn't 
know  ? 


18  A  BIT  0^  LOVE  ACT  i 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  The  Lord  forbid !  'Twid  send 
un  crazy,  I  think.  For  all  he'm  so  moony  an'  gentle- 
like,  I  think  he'm  a  terrible  passionate  man  inside. 
He've  a-got  a  saint  in  'im,  for  zure;  but  'tes  only 
'alf-baked,  in  a  manner  of  spakin'. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  I  shall  go  and  see  Mrs.  Fre- 
man.  There's  been  too  much  of  this  gossip  all  the 
winter. 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  'Tes  unfortimate-like  'tes  the 
Fremans.  Freman  he'm  a  gipsy  sort  of  a  feller;  and 
he've  never  forgiven  Mr.  Strangway  for  spakin'  to 
'im  about  the  way  he  trates  'is  'orses. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  Ah !  I'm  afraid  Mr.  Strangway's 
not  too  discreet  when  his  feelings  are  touched. 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  'E've  a-got  an  'eart  so  big  as 
the  full  miine.  But  'tes  no  yiise  expectin'  tu  much 
o'  this  world.     'Tes  a  funny  place,  after  that. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  Yes,  Mrs.  Burlacombe;  and  I 
shall  give  some  of  these  good  people  a  rare  rap  over 
the  knuckles  for  their  want  of  charity.  For  all  they 
look  as  if  butter  wouldn't  melt  in  their  mouths, 
they're  an  un-Christian  lot.  [Looking  very  directly  at 
Mrs.  Burl^icombe]  It's  lucky  we've  some  hold  over 
the  village.  I'm  not  going  to  have  scandal.  I  shall 
speak  to  Sir  Herbert,  and  he  and  the  Rector  will 
take  steps. 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  [With  covert  Tnalice]  Aw !  I  dii 
hope  'twon't  upset  the  Rector,  an'  'is  fiite  so  pop- 
tious ! 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  [Grimly]  His    foot'll     be    sound 


ACT  I  A  BIT  0'   LOVE  19 

enough  to  come  down  sharp.     By  the  way,  will  you 
send  me  a  duck  up  to  the  Rectory? 

Mes.  Burlacombe.  [Glad  to  get  avxiy]  Zurely,  m'm; 
at  once.     I've  some  luv'ly  fat  birds. 

[5^  goes  into  the  house. 
Mrs.  Bradmere.  Old  puss-cat ! 

She  turns  to  go,  and  in  the  doorway  encounters 
a  very  little,  red-cheeked  girl  in  a  peacock- 
blue    cap,    and    pink  frock,    who    curtsies 
stolidly. 
Mrs.  BRADiiERE.  Well,  Tibby  Jarland,  what  do  you 
want  here?     Always  sucking  somethmg,  aren't  you? 
Getting  no  reply  from  Tibby  Jarland,  she 
passes  out.     Tibby  comes  in,  looks  round, 
takes  a  large  sweet  out  of  her  mouth,  con- 
templates it,  and  puts  it  back  again.     Then, 
in  a  perfunctory  and  very  stolid  fashion,  she 
looks  about  the  floor,  as  if  she  had  been  told 
to  find  something.     While  she  is  finding  noth- 
ing and  sucking  her  sweet,  her  sister  Mercy 
comes  in  furtively,  stiU  frowning  and  vin- 
dictive. 
Mercy.  \Miat!    Haven't    you    found    it,    Tibby? 
Get  along  with  'ee,  then ! 

She  accelerates  the  stolid  Tibby's  departure  with 
a  smack,  searches  under  the  seat,  finds  and 
picks  up  the  deserted  sixpence.  Then  very 
quickly  she  goes  to  the  door.  But  it  is 
opened  before  she  reaches  it,  and,  finding 
herself  caught,  she  slips  behind  the  chintz 


20  A   BIT  O'   LOVE  act  i 

idndow-curtain.  A  woman  has  entered, 
who  is  clearly  the  original  of  the  large  pho- 
tograph. She  is  not  strictly  pretty,  but 
there  is  charm  in  her  pale,  resolute  face, 
with  its  mocJcing  lips,  flexible  brows,  and 
greenish  eyes,  whose  lids,  square  above  them, 
have  short,  dark  lashes.  She  is  dressed  in 
blue,  and  her  fair  hair  is  coiled  up  under 
a  cap  and  motor-veil.  She  comes  in  swiftly, 
and  closes  the  door  behind  her;  becomes  ir- 
resolute; the?!,  suddenly  deciding,  moves  to- 
wards the  door  into  the  house.  Mercy 
slips  from  behind  her  curtain  to  make  off, 
but  at  that  mxyment  the  door  into  the  house 
is  opened,  and  she  has  at  once  to  slip  back 
again  into  covert.  It  is  Ivy  ivho  has  ap- 
peared. 

Ivy.  [Amazed]  Oh!    Mrs.  Strangway ! 

Evidently  disconcerted  by  this  appearance, 
Beatrice  Straxgway  pulls  herself  together 
and  confronts  the  child  with  a  smile. 

Beatrice.  Well,  Ivy — you've  grown !  You  didn't 
expect  me,  did  yon  ? 

Ivy.  No,  Mrs.  Strangway;  but  I  hoped  yu'd  be 
comin'  soon. 

Beatrice.  Ah  !    Yes.     Is  Mr.  Strangway  in  ? 

Ivy.  [Hypnotized  by  those  faintly  smiling  lips]  Yes 
— oh,  yes !  He's  writin'  his  sermon  in  the  little  room. 
He  will  be  glad  ! 

Beatrice.  [Going  a  little  closer,   and  never  taking 


ACT  I  A  BIT   0'   L0\^  21 

her  eyes  off  the  child]  Yes.  Now,  Ivy,  will  you  do 
something  for  me? 

Ivy.  [Fluttering]  Oh,  yes,  Mrs.  Strangway. 

Beatrice.  Quite  sure.'* 

Ivy.  Oh,  yes ! 

Beatrice.  Are  you  old  enough  to  keep  a  secret? 

I\Tf.  [Nodding]  I'm  fourteen  now. 

Beatrice.  AYell,  then — I  don't  want  anybody  but 
Mr.  Strangway  to  know  I've  been  here;  nobody,  not 
even  your  mother.     D'you  understand? 

Ivy.  [Troubled]  No.     Only,  I  can  keep  a  secret. 

Beatrice.  Mind,  if  anybody  hears,  it  will  hurt — 
IMr.  Strangway. 

I\-Y.  Oh!  I  wouldn't — hurt — him.  Must  yiX  go 
away  again?  [Trembling  towards  her]  I  wish  jli  were 
goin'  to  stay.  And  perhaps  some  one  has  seen  y\i — 
They 

Beatrice.  [Eastily]  No,  no  one.  I  came  motoring; 
like  this.  [She  moves  her  veil  to  show  how  it  can  conceal 
her  face]  And  I  came  straight  down  the  little  lane, 
and  through  the  barn,  across  the  yard. 

Iv'Y.  [Timidly]  People  dii  see  a  lot. 

Be-\trice.  [Still  with  that  hovering  smile]  I  know, 
but —     Now  go  and  tell  him  quickly  and  quietly. 

Ivy.  [Stopping  at  the  door]  Mother's  pluckm'  a  duck. 
Only,  please,  Mrs.  Strangway,  if  she  comes  in  even 
after  \ii've  gone,  she'll  know,  because — because  yii 
always  have  that  particular  nice  scent. 

Beatrice.  Thank  you,  my  child.  I'll  see  to  that. 
I-VY  looks  at  her  as  if  she  would  speak  again. 


22  A  BIT  O'  LOVE  ACT  I 

then  turns  suddenly,  and  goes  out.    Bea- 
trice's face    darkens;    she    shivers.     Tak- 
ing out  a  little  cigarette  case,  she  lights  a 
cigarette,   and   watch-es   the   puffs   of  smoke 
toreathe    about    her    and    die    away.     The 
frightened  Mercy  peers  out,  spying  for  a 
chance    to    escape.     Then  from    the    house 
Strangway  comes  in.    All  his  dreaminess 
is  gone. 
Strangway.  Thank  God!  [He  stops  at  the  look  on 
her  face]  I  don't  understand,  though.    I  thought  you 
were  still  out  there. 

Beatrice.  [Letting  her  cigarette  fall,  and  putting  her 
foot  on  it]  No. 

Strangway.  You're  staying ?  Oh!  Beatrice;  come! 
We'll  get  away  from  here  at  once — as  far,  as  far — 
anywhere  you  like.     Oh !  my  darling — only  come  !    If 

3'ou  knew 

Beatrice.  It's  no  good,  Michael;    I've  tried  and 
tried. 
Steangw^.  Not !    Then,  why —  -^    Beatrice !    You 

said,  when  you  were  right  away — I've  waited 

Beatrice.  I  know.  It's  cruel — it's  horrible.  But 
I  told  you  not  to  hope,  Michael.  I've  done  my  best. 
All  these  months  at  Mentone,  I've  been  wondering 
why  I  ever  let  you  marry  me — when  that  feeling 
wasn't  dead ! 

Strangway.  You  can't  have  come  back  just  to 
leave  me  again? 

Beatrice.  "When   you   let   me   go   out   there   with 


ACT  I  A  BIT  O'  LOVE  23 

mother  I  thought — I  did  think  I  would  be  able;   and 
I  had  begun — and  then — spring  came  ! 

Strangwat.  Spring  came  here  too!  Never  so — 
aching  !     Beatrice,  can't  you  ? 

Beatrice.  I've  something  to  say. 

Straxgway.  No!    No!    No! 

Beatrice.  You  see — I've — fallen. 

Strangway.  Ah!  [Zn  a  voice  sharpened  by  pain] 
\Miy,  in  the  name  of  mercy,  come  here  to  tell  me 
that  ?    Was  he  out  there,  then  ? 

[She  shakes  her  head, 

Beatrice.  I  came  straight  back  to  him. 

Strangway.  To  Durford  ? 

Beatrice.  To  the  Cross  way  Hotel,  miles  out — in 
my  own  name.  They  don't  know  me  there.  I  told 
you  not  to  hope,  Michael.  I've  done  my  best;  I 
swear  it. 

Strangway.  My  God ! 

Beatrice.  It  was  your  God  that  brought  us  to  live 
near  him! 

Strangway.  "\Miy  have  you  come  to  me  like  this.'* 

Beatrice.  To  know  what  you're  going  to  do.  Are 
you  going  to  divorce  me.'*  We're  in  your  power. 
Don't  divorce  me —  Doctor  and  patient — you  must 
know — it  ruins  him.  He'll  lose  everything.  He'd 
be  disqualified,  and  he  hasn't  a  penny  without  his 
work. 

Strangway.  "Why  should  I  spare  him  ? 

Beatrice.  Michael,  I  came  to  beg.    It's  hard. 

Strangway.  No;  don't  beg !    I  can't  stand  it. 


24  A  BIT  0'  LOVE  act  i 

Beatrice.  [Recovering  her  pride]  What  are  you 
going  to  do/ then?  Keep  us  apart  by  the  threat  of 
a  divorce?  Starve  us  and  prison  us?  Cage  me  up 
here  with  you?     I'm  not  brute  enough  to  ruin  him. 

Strangway.  Heaven ! 

Beatrice.  I  never  really  stopped  loving  him.  I 
never  loved  you,  Michael. 

Strangway.  [Stunned]  Is  that  true?  [Beatrice 
benAs  her  head]  Never  loved  me?  Not — that  night 
— on  the  river — not ? 

Beatrice.  [Under  her  breath]  No. 

Strangway.  Were  you  lying  to  me,  then?  Kissing 
me,  and — hating  me? 

Beatrice.  One  doesn't  hate  men  like  you;  but  it 
wasn't  love. 

Strangway.  Why  did  you  tell  me  it  was? 

Beatrice.  Yes.  That  was  the  worst  thing  I've 
ever  done. 

Strangway.  Do  you  think  I  would  have  married 
you  ?  I  would  have  burned  first !  I  never  dreamed 
you  didn't.     I  swear  it ! 

Beatrice.  [Very  low]  Forget  it ! 

Strangway.  Did  he  try  to  get  you  away  from  me? 
[Beatrice  gives  him  a  swift  look]  Tell  me  the  truth ! 

Beatrice.  No.  It  was — I — alone.  But — he  loves 
me. 

Strangway.  One  does  not  easily  know  love,  it 
seems. 

But  her  smile,  faint,  mysterious,  pitying,  is 
enough,  and  he  turns  away  from  her. 


ACT  I  A  BIT   0'   LOVE  25 

Beatrice.  It  was  cruel  to  come,  I  know.  For  me, 
too.     But  I  couldn't  write.     I  had  to  know. 

Strangway.  Never  loved  me?  Never  loved  me? 
That  night  at  Tregaron?  [At  the  look  on  her  face] 
You  might  have  told  me  before  you  went  away ! 
WTiy  keep  me  all  these 

Beatrice.  I  meant  to  forget  him  again.  I  did 
mean  to.  I  thought  I  could  get  back  to  what  I  was, 
when  I  married  you;  but,  you  see,  what  a  girl  can 
do,  a  woman  that's  been  married — can't. 

Strangway.  Then  it  was  I — my  kisses  that — ! 
[He  laughs]  How  did  you  stand  them?  [His  eyes  dart 
at  her  face]  Imagination  helped  you,  perhaps ! 

Beatrice.  Michael,  don't,  don't!  And — oh!  don't 
make  a  public  thing  of  it!  You  needn't  be  afraid  I 
shall  have  too  good  a  time!  [He  stays  quite  still  and 
»iknt,  and  that  ichich  is  writhing  in  him  makes  his  face 
so  strange  that  Beatrice  stands  aghust.  At  last  she 
goes  stumbling  on  in  s])eech]  If  ever  you  Tvant  to  marry 
some  one  else — then,  of  course — that's  only  fair,  ruin 
or  not.  But  till  then— till  then—  He's  leaving  Dur- 
ford,  gomg  to  Brighton.  No  one  need  know.  And 
you — this  isn't  the  only  parish  in  the  world. 

Straxgway.  [Quietly]  You  ask  me  to  help  you  live 
in  secret  with  another  man? 

Beatrice.  I  ask  for  mercy. 

Strangway.  [As  to  himself]  \Miat  am  I  to  do  ? 

Beatrice,  ^^^lat  you  feel  m  the  bottom  of  your 
heart. 

Strangway.  You  ask  me  to  help  you  live  in  sin  ? 


26  A  BIT  0'  LOVE  act  i 

Beatrice.  To  let  me  go  out  of  your  life.     You've 
only  to  do — nothing.  [He  goes,  slowly,  close  to  her. 

Strangway.  I    want    you.     Come    back    to    me! 
Beatrice,  come  back ! 
Beatrice.  It  would  be  torture,  now. 
Strangway.  [Writhing]  Oh! 
Beatrice.  Whatever's  in  your  heart — do ! 
Strangway.  You'd  come  back  to  me  sooner  than 
ruin  him  ?    Would  you  ^ 

Beatrice.  I  can't  bring  him  harm. 
Strangway.  [Turning  away]  God ! — if  there  be  one 
— help  me !  [He  stands  leaning  his  forehead  against  ilie 
window.  Suddenly  his  glance  falls  on  the  little  bird- 
cage, still  lying  on  the  window-seat]  Never  cage  any 
wild  thing !  [He  gives  a  laugh  that  is  half  a  sob;  then, 
turning  to  the  door,  says  in  a  low  voice]  Go  !  Go  please, 
quickly !  Do  what  you  will.  I  won't  hurt  you — can't 
—  But — go !  [He  opens  the  door. 

Beatrice.  [Greatly  moved]  Thank  you  ! 

She  passes  him  with  her  head  down,  and  goes 
out  quickly.  Strangway  stands  uncon- 
sciously tearing  at  the  little  bird-cage.  And 
while  he  tears  at  it  he  utters  a  moaning 
sound.  The  terrified  Mercy,  peering  from 
behind  the  curtain,  and  watching  her 
chance,  slips  to  the  still  open  door;  but 
in  her  haste  and  fright  she  knocks  against 
it,  and  Strangway  sees  her.  Before  he  can 
stop  her  she  has  fled  out  on  to  the  green 
and  away. 


ACT  I  A  BIT   O'   LOVE  27 

While  he  stands  there,  paralysed,  the  door  from 

the  house  u  opened,  and  Mrs.  Burlacombe 

approacJie^  him  in  a  queer,  hushed  way. 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  [Her  eyes  mechanically  fixed  on 

the  twined  bird-cage  in  his  harids]  'Tis  poor  Sue  Cremer, 

zurr,  I  didn't  'ardly  think  she'd  last  thrli  the  momin'. 

An'  zure  enough  she'm  passed  away!  [Seeing  that  he 

has    not    taken  in  her  words]  Mr.   Strangway — jii'm 

feelin'  giddy  .^ 

Strangway.      No,    no!      AMiat    was    it?      You 

said 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  'Tes  Jack  Cremer.  His  wife's 
gone.  'E'm  in  a  terrible  way.  'Tes  only  yli,  'e  ses, 
can  dii  'im  any  glide.     He'm  in  the  kitchen. 

Strangway.  Cremer  ?       Yes !       Of     course.       Let 

him 

^Irs.  Burlacombe.  [>S/i:7/  staring  at  the  twisted  cage] 
YU  ain't  wantm'  that — 'tes  all  twizzled.  [She  takes  it 
from  him]  Sure  yii'm  not  feelin'  yer  'ead.^ 
Str^^'Gway.  [With  a  resolute  effort]  No ! 
;Mrs.  Burlacombe.  [Doubtfully]  I'll    send    'im    in, 
then.  [She  goes. 

When  she  is  gone,  Strangway  passes  his 
handkerchief  across  his  forehead,  and  his 
lips  move  fast.  He  is  standing  motionless 
when  Cresier,  a  big  man  in  labourer  s 
clothes,  with  a  thick,  broad  face,  and  tragic, 
faithful  eyes,  comes  in,  and  stands  a  little 
in  from  the  closed  door,  quite  dumb. 
Strangway.  [After  a  moment's  silence — going  up  to 


28  A  BIT  0'  LOVE  act  i 

him  and  laying  a  hand  on  his  shoulder]  Jack!     Don't 
give  way.     If  we  give  w^ay — we're  done. 

Crevier.  Yes,  zurr.    [A  quiver  passes  over  his  face. 

Strangway.  She  didn't.  Your  wife  was  a  brave 
woman.     A  dear  woman. 

Creaier.  I  never  thought  to  liise  'er.  She  never 
told  me  'ow  bad  she  was,  afore  she  tuk  to  'er  bed. 
'Tis  a  dreadful  thing  to  liise  a  wife,  zurr. 

Strangway.  [Tightening  his  lips,  that  tremble]  Yes. 
But  don't  give  way  !     Bear  up.  Jack ! 

Cre]vier.  Seems  funny  'er  goin'  blue-bell  time,  an* 
the  sun  shinin'  so  warm.  I  picked  up  an  'orse-shii 
yesterda}'.     I  can't  never  'ave  'er  back,  zurr. 

[His  face  quivers  again. 

Strangway.  Some  day  you'll  jom  her.  Thmk! 
Some  lose  their  wuves  for  ever. 

Cremer.  I  don't  believe  as  there's  a  future  life, 
zurr.     I  think  we  goo  to  sleep  like  the  beasts. 

Strangway.  We're  told  otherwise.  But  come  here ! 
[Drawing  him  to  the  unndow]  Look !  Listen  !  To  sleep 
in  that !  Even  if  we  do,  it  won't  be  so  bad.  Jack, 
will  it.? 

Cremer.  She  wer'  a  glide  wife  to  me — no  man 
ciidn't  'ave  no  better  wife. 

Strangway.  [Putting  his  hand  out]  Take  hold — 
hard — harder !  I  want  yours  as  much  as  you  want 
mine.  Pray  for  me.  Jack,  and  I'll  pray  for  you. 
And  we  won't  give  way,  will  we? 

Cremer.  [To  whom  the  strangeness  of  these  words 
has  given  some  relief]  No,  zurr;   thank  'ee,  zurr.     'Tes 


ACT  I  A  BIT  0'  L0\^  ^9 

no  glide,  I  expect.     Only,  I'll  miss  'er.     Thank  'ee, 

zurr;  kindly. 

He  lifts  his  hand  to  his  head,  turns,  and  vn- 
certainly  goes  out  to  the  kitchen.  And 
Strangway  stays  where  he  is,  not  hwiring 
2chat  to  do.  Then  blindly  he  takes  up  his 
flute,  and  hatless,  hurries  out  into  the 
air. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 

SCENE  I 

Ahoid  seven  o'clock  in  the  taproovi  of  the  village  inn. 
The  bar,  with  the  appurtenances  tJiereof,  stretches 
across  one  end,  and  opposite  is  the  porch  door  on 
to  the  green.  The  wall  between  is  nearly  all  win- 
dow, with  leaded  panes,  one  wide-open  casement 
whereof  lets  in  the  last  of  the  sunlight.  A  narrow 
bench  runs  under  this  broad  window.  And  this  is 
all  the  furniture,  save  three  spittoons. 

GoDLEiGH,  the  innkeeper,  a  smallish  man  unth  thick 
ruffled  hair,  a  loquacious  nose,  and  apple-red  cheeks 
above  a  reddish-brown  moustache,  is  reading  the 
paper.  To  him  enters  Tibby  Jabla>'D  with  a 
shilling  in  her  mouth. 

GoDLEiGH.  Well,  Tibby  Jarland,  whatVe  >ii  come 
for,  then  ?     Glass  o'  beer  ? 

Tibby  takes  the  shilling  from  her  mouth  and 

smiles  stolidly. 

GoDLEiGH.  [Twinkling]  I  shid  zay  glass  o'  'arf  an' 

'arf's  about  yure  form.  [Tibby  smiles  more  broadly] 

Yu'm    a    praaper    masterpiece.     Well!     'Ave    sister 

31 


32  A  BIT  O'   LOVE  act  ii 

Mercy  borrowed  ylire  tongue  ?  [Tibby  shakes  her  head] 
Aw,  she  'aven't.     Well,  maid  ? 

Tibby.  Father  wants  six  clay  pipes,  please. 
GoDLEiGH.  'E  dii,  dii  'ee?    YU  tell  ylire  father  'e 
can't  'ave  more'n  one,  not  this  avenin'.     And  'ere  'tis. 
Hand  up  ylire  shillin'. 

Tibby  reaches  up  her  hand,  parts  with  the 

shilling,  and  receives  a  long  clay  pipe  and 

eleven  pennies,     hi  order  to  secure  the  coins 

in  her  pinafore  she  places  the  clay  pipe  in 

her  mouth.     While  she  is  still  thus  engaged, 

Mrs.  Bradmere  enters  the  porch  and  coines 

in.     Tibby  curtsies  stolidly. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  Gracious,  child !     What  are  you 

doing  here  ?     And  what  have  you  got  in  your  mouth  ? 

Who   is   it?     Tibby   Jarland?  [Tibby   curtsies   again] 

Take  that  thing  out.     And  tell  your  father  from  me 

that  if  I  ever  see  you  at  the  inn  again  I  shall  tread 

on  his  toes  hard.     Godleigh,  you  know  the  law  about 

children  ? 

Godleigh.  [Cocking  his  eye,  and  not  at  all  abashed] 
Surely,  m'm.  But  she  will  come.  Go  away,  my 
dear. 

Tibby,  Tiever  talcing  her  eyes  off  jVIrs.  Brad- 
mere,    or   the    pipe  from    her   viouth,    has 
hacked  stolidly  to  the  door,  and  vanished. 
Mrs.  Bradmere.  [Eyeing    Godleigh]  Now,    God- 
leigh, I've  come  to  talk  to  you.     Half  the  scandal 
that  goes   about   the   village   begins   here.  [Slie  holds 
up  her  finger  to  check  expostulation]  No,  no — it's  no 


sc.  I  A  BIT  0'   LOVE  33 

good.  You  know  the  value  of  scandal  to  your  busi- 
ness far  too  well. 

GoDLEiGH.  Wi'  all  respect,  m'm,  I  knows  the  vally 
of  it  to  youm,  tii. 

Mes.  Bradmere.  What  do  you  mean  by  that .' 

GoDLEiGH.  If  there  weren't  no  Rector's  lady  there 
widden'  be  no  notice  taken  o'  scandal;  an'  if  there 
weren't  no  notice  taken,  twidden  be  scandal,  to  my 
thinkin'. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  [Winki?ig  out  a  grim  little  smile] 
Very  well !  You've  given  me  your  views.  Now  for 
mine.  There's  a  piece  of  scandal  gomg  about  that's 
got  to  be  stopped,  Godleigh.  You  turn  the  tap  of  it 
off  here,  or  we'll  turn  your  tap  off.  You  know  me. 
See? 

Godleigh.  I  shouldn'  never  presume,  m'm,  to  know 
a  lady. 

;Mrs.  Bradmere.  The  Rector's  quite  determined, 
so  is  Su"  Herbert.  Ordinary  scandal's  bad  enough, 
but  this  touches  the  Church.  While  IVIr.  Strangway 
remains  curate  here,  there  must  be  no  talk  about 
him  and  his  affairs. 

Godleigh.  [Cocking  his  eye]  I  was  just  thinkin' 
how  to  dti  it,  m'm.  'Twid  be  a  brave  notion  to  putt 
the  men  m  chokey,  and  slit  the  women's  tongues- 
like,  same  as  they  dii  in  outlandish  places,  as  I'm  told. 

:Mrs.  Bradmere.  Don't  talk  nonsense,  Godleigh; 
and  mind  what  I  say,  because  I  mean  it. 

Godleigh.  Make  jiire  mmd  aisy,  m'm — there'll  be 
no  scandal-monkeyin'  here  wi'  my  permission. 


34  A  BIT  O'   LOVE  act  ii 

Mrs.  Bradmere  gives  him  a  keen  stare,  but 
seeing  him  ^perfectly  grave,   nods  her  head 
with  approval. 
Mrs.  Bradmere.  Good !    You  know  what's  being 
said,  of  course  ? 

GoDLEiGH.  [With  respectful  gravity]  Yli'll  pardon 
me,  m'm,  but  ef  an'  in  case  yii  was  goin'  to  tell  me, 
there's  a  riile  in  this  'ouse:   "No  scandal  'ere!" 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  [Twinkling  grimly]  You're  too 
smart  by  half,  my  man. 

GoDLEiGH.  Aw  fegs,  no,  m'm — child  in  ylire  'ands. 

IVIrs.  Bradmere.  I    wouldn't    trust    you    a    yard. 

Once   more,   Godleigh !     This   is   a   Christian   village, 

and  we  mean   it  to  remain  so.     You  look  out  for 

yourself. 

The  door  opens  to  admit  the  farmers  Trusta- 
ford   a7id   Burl^combe.     They   doff  their 
hats   to   Mrs.   Bradmere,   who,   after   one 
more  sharp  look   at   Godleigh,   moves  to- 
wards the  door. 
Mrs.  Bradmere.  Evenmg,     Mr.     Trustaford.  [To 
Burlacombe]  Burlacombe,  tell  your  wife  that  duck 
she  sent  up  was  in  hard  training. 

With  one  of  her  grim  winks,  and  a  nod,  she 
goes. 
Trustaford.  [Replacing  a  hat  which  is  black,  hard, 
and  not  very  new,  on  his  long  head,  above  a  long  face, 
clean-shaved  but  for  little  whiskers]  "What's  the  old 
grey  mare  want,  then?  [With  a  horse-laugh]  'Er's 
lukin'  awful  wise ! 


sc.  I  A   BIT  O'   LOVE  35 

GoDLEiGH.  [Enigmatically]  Ah ! 

Trustaford.  [Sitting  on  the  bench  close  to  the  bar] 
Drop  o'  whisky,  an'  potash. 

BuRLACOMBE.  [A  tocitum,  slim,  yellowish  man,  in 
a  worn  soft  hat]  What's  niise,  Godleigh?  Drop  o' 
cider. 

Godleigh.  NUse?  There's  never  no  niise  in  this 
'ouse.  Aw,  no!  Not  wi'  my  permission.  [In  imita- 
tion] This  is  a  Christian  village. 

Trustaford.  Thought  the  old  grey  mare  seemed 
mighty  busy.  [To  Burlacombe]  'Tes  rather  quare 
about  the  curate's  wife  a-comin'  motorin'  this  mornin'. 
Passed  me  wi'  her  face  all  smothered  up  in  a  veil, 
goggles  an'  all.     Haw,  haw  ! 

Burlacombe.  Aye ! 

Trustaford.  Off  again  she  was  in  'alf  an  hour. 
'Er  didn't  give  poor  old  curate  much  of  a  chance, 
after  six  months. 

Godleigh.  Havin'  an  engagement  elsewhere —  No 
scandal,  please,  gentlemen. 

Bltilacombe.  [Acidly]  Never  asked  to  see  my  missis. 
Passed  me  in  the  yard  like  a  stone. 

Trustaford.  'Tes  a  little  bit  riimoursome  lately 
about  'er  doctor. 

Godleigh.  Ah !  he's  the  favourite.  But  'tes  a  dead 
secret,  Mr.  Trustaford.  Don't  yii  never  repate  it — 
there's  not  a  cat  don't  know  it  already ! 

Burlacombe  frovmsy  and  Trustaford  utters 
his  laugh.     The  door  is  opened  and  Freman, 


V 


36  A  BIT  O'   LOVE  act  ii 

a  dark  gipsyish  man  in  the  dress  of  a  farmer, 
comes  in. 

GoDLEiGH.  Don't  yii  never  tell  Will  Freman  what 
'e  told  me ! 

Freviax.  Avenin' ! 

Trustaford.  Avenin',  Will;  what's  yiire  glass  o' 
trouble  ? 

Fremax.  Drop  o'  cider,  clove,  an'  dash  o'  gin. 
There's  blood  in  the  sky  to-night. 

BuRL.\coMBE.  Ah !  We'll  'ave  fine  weather  now, 
with  the  full  o'  the  mline. 

Freman.  Dust  o'  wind  an'  a  drop  or  tii,  virst,  I 
reckon.     'Eard  t'  nlise  about  curate  an'  'is  wife  ? 

GoDLEiGH.  No,  indeed;  an'  don't  yii  tell  us.  We'm 
Christians  'ere  in  this  village. 

Frem.an.  'T^in't  no  very  Christian  nlise,  neither. 
He's  sent  'er  off  to  th'  doctor.  "Go  an'  live  with 
un,"  'e  says;  "my  blessin'  on  ye."  If  'er'd  a-been 
mine,  I'd  'a  tuk  the  whip  to  'er.  Tarn  Jarland's 
maid,  she  yeard  it  all.  Christian,  indeed !  That's 
brave  Christianity!  "Goo  an'  live  with  un!"  'e 
told  'er. 

Burlacombe.  No,  no;  that's  not  sense — a  man  to 
say  that.  I'll  not  'ear  that  against  a  man  that  bides 
in  my  'ouse. 

Freman.  'Tes  sure,  I  tell  'ee.  The  maid  was  hid-up, 
scared-like,  behind  the  curtain.  .  At  it  they  went,  and 
parson  'e  says:  "Go,"  'e  says,  "I  won't  kape  'ee  from 
'im,"  'e  says,  "an'  I  won't  divorce  'ee,  as  yii  don't 
wish   it!"    They   was   'is   words,   same   as  Jarland's 


sc.  I  A   BIT  O'   LOVE  37 

maid  told  my  maid,  an'  my  maid  told  my  missis.     If 
that's  parson's  talk,  'tes  funny  work  goin'  to  church. 
Trustafobd.    [Brooding]     'Tes     wonderful     quare, 
zurel}'. 

Frem-^jn".  Tam  Jarland's  fair  mad  wi'  curate  for 
makin'  free  wi'  his  maid's  skylark.  Parson  or  no 
parson,  'e've  no  call  to  meddle  wi'  other  people's 
praperty.  He  cam'  pokin '  'is  nose  into  my  affairs. 
I  told  un  I  knew  a  sight  more  'bout  'orses  than  'e 
ever  would ! 

Trustaford.  He'm  a  bit  crazy  'bout  bastes  an* 
birds. 

They  have  been  so  absorbed  that  iliey  Jiave  not 
noticed  the  entrance  of  Clyst,  a  youth  with 
tousled  hair,  and  a  bright,  quick,  Celtic  eye, 
who  stands  listening,  with  a  bit  of  -paper  in 
his  hand. 

Clyst.  Ah !  he'm  that  zurely,  Mr.  Trustaford. 

[He  chuckles. 

GoDLEiGH.  Now,  Tim  Clyst,  if  an'  in  case  3'u've 
a-got  some  scandal  on  yer  tongue,  don't  yii  never 
unship  it  here.  Yii  go  up  to  Rectory  where  'twill 
be  more  relished-like. 

Clyst.  [Waving  the  paper]  "Will  y'  give  me  a  drink 
for  thic,  Mr.  Godleigh  ?  'Tes  rale  funny.  Aw !  'tes 
somethin'  swate.  Biitiful  readiii'.  Poetry.  Rale 
spice.     Yu've  a  luv'ly  voice  for  readin',  Mr.  Godleigh. 

Godleigh.  [All  ears  and  twinkle]  Aw,  what  is  it 
then? 


38  A  BIT  0'  LOVE  act  ii 

Clyst.  Ah !    Yii  want  t'know  tii  much.     - 

[Putting  the  paper  in  his  pocket. 
While  he  is  speaking,  Jim  Bere  has  entered 
quietly,  with  his  feeble  step  and  smile,  and 
sits  down. 
Clyst.  [Kindly]  Hallo,  Jim !     Cat  come  'ome  ? 
Jim  Bere.  No. 

All  nod,  and  speak  to  him  kindly.  And  Jnr 
Bere  smiles  at  them,  and  his  eyes  ask  of 
them  the  question,  to  which  there  is  no  an- 
swer. And  after  that  he  sits  motionless  and 
silent,  and  they  talk  as  if  he  were  not 
there. 
GoDLEiGH.  \Miat's  all  this,  now — no  scandal  in  my 
'ouse ! 

Clyst.  'Tes    awful    peculiar — like    a    drame.     Mr. 
Burlacombe  'e  don't  like  to  hear  tell  about  drames. 
A  guess  a  won't  tdl  'ee,  arter  that. 
Fresian.  Out  wi'  it,  Tim. 

Clyst.  'Tes  powerful  thirsty  to-day,  Mr.  Godleigh. 
GoDLEiGH.  [Drawing  him  some  cider]  Yii're  all  wild 
cat's  talk,  Tim;   yii've  a-got  no  tale  at  all. 
Clyst.  [Moving  for  the  cider]  Aw,  indade ! 
Godleigh.  No  tale,  no  cider ! 
Clyst.  Did  ye  ever  year  tell  of  Orphus  ? 
Trustaford.  AMiat?     The  old  vet.:    up  to  Dray- 
leigh  ? 

Clyst.  Fegs,  no;  Orphus  that  lived  in  th'  old  time, 
an'  drawed  the  bastes  after  un  wi'  his  music,  same  as 
curate  was  tellin'  the  maids. 


sc.  I  A  BIT  0'   LOVE  39 

Freman.  I've  'eard  as  a  gipsy  over  to  Yellacott 
could  dii  that  wi'  'is  viddle. 

Clyst.  'Twas  no  gipsy  I  see'd  this  artemiine;  'twas 
Orphus,  dowTi  to  Mr.  Burlacombe's  long  medder; 
settin'  there  all  dark  on  a  stone  among  the  dimsy- 
white  flowers  an'  the  cowflops,  wi'  a  bird  upon  'is 
'ead,  playin'  his  whistle  to  the  ponies. 

Freman.  [Excitedly]  YU  did  never  zee  a  man  wi'  a 
bird  on  'is  'ead. 
Clyst.  Didn'  I? 

Freman.  What  sort  o'  bird,  then?  YU  tell  me 
that. 

Trustaford.  Praaper  old  barndoor  cock.  Haw, 
haw! 

GoDLEiGH.  [Soothingly]  'Tesa  vairy-tale;  us  mustn't 
be  tli  partic'lar. 

Burlacombe.  In  my  long  medder?  WTiere  were 
yii,  then,  Tim  Clyst? 

Clyst.  Passin'  down  the  lane  on  my  bike.  Won- 
derful sorrowful-fine  music  'e  played.  The  ponies 
they  did  come  round  'e — yu  cud  zee  the  tears  runnin' 
down  their  chakes;  'twas  powerful  sad.  'E  'adn't  no 
'at  on. 
"^    Freman.  [Jeering]  No;   'e  'ad  a  bird  on  'is  'ead. 

Clyst.  [With  a  silencing  grin]  He  went  on  playin' 

an'  playin'.     The  ponies  they  never  muved.     An'  all 

the  dimsy- white  flowers  they  waved  and  waved,  an' 

the  wind  it  went  over  'em.     Gav'  me  a  funny  feelin'. 

GoDLEiGH.  Clyst,  yli  take  the  cherry  bun ! 

Clyst.  \Miere's  that  cider,  Mr.  Godleigh  ? 


f 


40  A  BIT  O'   LOVE  act  ii 

GoDLEiGH.  [Bending  over  the  cider]  Yu've  a  -'ad  tii 
much  already,  Tim. 

The  door  is  opened,  and  Tam  Jarland  appear*. 
He  walks  rather  unsteadily;  a  man  with  a 
heavy  jowl,  arid  sullen,  strange,  epileptic- 
looking  eyes. 

Clyst.  [Pointing  to  J.uiland]  'Tis  Tam  Jarland 
there  'as  the  cargo  aboard. 

Jarland.  Avenin',  all !  [To  Godleigh]  Pint  o'  beer. 
[To  Jni  Bere]  Avenin',  Jim. 

[Jim  Bere  looks  at  him  and  smiles. 

Godleigh.  [Serving  him  after  a  moment's  hesitation] 
'Ere  3' 'are,  Tam.  [To  Clyst,  who  has  taken  out  his 
paper  again]  'SVhere'd  yii  get  thiccy  paper  ? 

Clyst.  [Putting  down  his  cider-mug  empty]  Yiire 
tongue  dii  watter,  don't  it,  Mr.  Godleigh?  [Holding 
out  his  mug]  No  zider,  no  poetry.  'Tis  amazin'  sor- 
rowful; Shakespeare  over  again.  "The  boy  stude  on 
the  burnin'  deck." 

Freman.  Yii  and  yer  yap ! 

Clyst.  Ah  !  Yii  wait  a  bit.  When  I  come  back 
down  t'lane  again,  Orphus  'e  was  vanished  away; 
there  was  naught  in  the  field  but  the  ponies,  an'  a 
praaper  old  magpie,  a-top  o'  the  hedge.  I  zee  some- 
thin' white  in  the  beako'  the  fowl, so  I  giv'  a  "Whisht," 
an'  *e  drops  it  smart,  an'  off  'e  go.  I  gets  over  bank 
an'  picks  un  up,  and  here't  be. 

[He  holds  out  his  mug. 

BxjRLACOMBE.  [Tartly]  Here,  give  'im  'is  cider. 
Rade  it  yiireself,  ye  young  teasewings. 


sc.  I  A  BIT  0'  L0\^  41 

Cltst,  having  secured  Ms  cider,  drinks  it  off. 

Holding  up  th£  paper  to  the  light,  he  makes 

as  if  to  begin,   then  slides  his  eye  round, 

tantalizing. 

Clyst.  'Tes  a  pity  I  bain't  dressed  in  a  white  gown, 

an'  flowers  in  me  'air. 

Frzji-^n.  Read  it,  or  we'll  'ave  jii  out  o*  this. 
Clyst.  Aw,  don't  'ee  shake  my  nerve,  now ! 

He  begins  reading  with  mock  heroism,  in  his 
soft,  high,  burring  voice.  Thus,  in  his  rus- 
tic  accent,  go  the  lines: 

God  lighted  the  zun  in  'eaven  far. 
Lighted  the  virefly  an'  the  ztar. 
My  'eart  'E  lighted  not ! 

God  lighted  the  vields  fur  lambs  to  play, 
Lighted  the  bright  strames,  'an  the  may. 
My  'eart  'E  hghted  not ! 

God  lighted  the  mline,  the  Arab's  way. 
He  lights  to-morrer,  an'  to-day. 
My  *eart  'E  'ath  vorgot ! 

When  he  has  finished,  there  is  silence.     Then 
Teustaford,  scratching  his  head,  speaks: 
Trustaford.  'Tes  amazin'  funny  stuff. 
Frem.^x.  [Looking  over  Clyst's  shoulder]  Be  danged ! 
'Tes  the  curate's  'andwritin'.     'Twas  curate  wi'  the 
ponies,  after  that. 

Clyst.  Fancy,   now !    Aw,   Will   Freman,   an't  yii 
bright ! 


42  A  BIT  O'  LOVE  act  ii 

Freman.  But  'e  'adn't  no  bird  on  'is  'ead. 

Clyst.  Ya-a5,  'e  'ad. 

Jarland.  [In  a  dull,  threatening  voice]  'E  'ad  my 
maid's  bird,  this  arterniine.  'Ead  or  no,  and  parson 
or  no,  I'll  gie  'im  one  for  that. 

Freaiax.  Ah!     And  'e  meddled  wi'  my  'orses. 

Trustaford.  I'm  thinkin'  'twas  an  old  cuckoo 
bird  'e  'ad  on  'is  'ead.     Haw,  haw! 

GoDLEiGH.  "His  'eart  she  'ath  vorgot!" 

Frejiax.  'E's  a  fine  one  to  be  tachin'  our  maids 
convirmation. 

GoDLEiGH.  Would  ye  'ave  it  the  old  Rector  then? 
Wi'  'is  gouty  shoe?  Rackon  the  maids  wid  rather 
'twas  curate;   eh,  Mr.  Burlacombe? 

BuRLACOMBE.  [Abruptly]  Curate's  a  glide  man. 

Jarland.  [With  the  comatose  ferocity  of  drink]  I'll  be 
/  even  wi'  un. 
<\j       Freman.  [Excitedly]  Tell  'ee  one  thing— 'tes  not  a 
proper  man  o'  God  to  'ave  about,  wi'  'is  llise  goin's  on. 
Out  vrom  'ere  he  oughter  go. 

Burlacombe.  You  med  go  further  an'  fare  worse. 

j        Freman.  W^hat's  'e  diiin',  then,  lettin'  'is  wife  run  off  ? 

\J        Trust.^ford.  [Scratching  his  head]  If  an'  in  case  'e 

can't  kape  'er,  'tes  a  funnj'  way  o'  diiin'  things  not  to 

divorce  'er,  after  that.     If  a  parson's  not  to  dii  the 

Christian  thing,  whii  is,  then? 

Burlacombe.  'Tes  a  bit  immoral-like  to  pass  over 
a  thing  like  that.     'Tes  funny  if  women's  goin's  on's 
to  be  encouraged. 
V     Freman.  Act  of  a  coward,  I  zav. 


sc.  I  A   BIT   O'   LOVE  43 

BuRLACOMBE.  The  curate  ain't  no  coward. 

Froi.^js:.  He  bides  in  yiire  house;  "tes  natural  for 
yii  to  stand  up  for  un;  I'll  wager  Mrs.  Burlacombe 
don't,  though.  My  missis  was  fair  shocked.  "Will," 
she  says,  "if  yli  ever  make  vut  to  let  me  go  like  that, 
I  widden  never  stay  wi'  yii,"  she  says. 

Trust.ajord.  'Tes  settin'  a  bad  example,  for  zure. 

BuRL.\coMBE.  'Tes  all  very  aisy  talkin';  what  shiide 
'e  dii,  then  ? 

Frkm-\x.  [ExciUdly]  Go  over  to  Durford  and  say 
to  that  doctor:  "Yii  come  about  my  missis,  an'  zee 
what  1*11  dii  to  'ee."  An'  take  'er  'ome  an'  zee  she 
don't  misbe'ave  again. 

Clyst.  'E  can't  take  'er  ef  'er  don'  want  t'  come — 
I've  'card  lawyer,  that  lodged  wi'  us,  say  that. 

Freii.\x.  All  right  then,  'e  ought  to  'ave  the  law  of 
'er  and  'er  doctor;  an'  zee  'er  goin's  on  don't  prosper; 
'e'd  get  damages,  tii.  But  this  way  'tes  a  nice  ex- 
ample he'm  settin'  folks.  Parson  indade !  My  missis 
an'  the  maids  they  won't  goo  near  the  church  to-night, 
an'  I  wager  no  one  else  won't,  neither. 

J-\RLAXD.  [Lurching  icith  his  pewter  up  to  Godleigh] 
The  beggar !     Ill  be  even  wi'  un. 

Godleigh.  [Looking  at  him  in  doubt]  'Tes  the  last, 
then.  Tarn. 

Having  received  his  beer,  Jarlaxd  stands,  lean- 
ing against  the  bar,  drinking. 

Burlacombe.  [Suddenly]  I  don'  goo  with  what 
curate's  diiin' — 'tes  tii  soft  'earted;  he'm  a  miiney 
kind  o'   man  altogether,  wi'   'is  flute  an'  'is  poetry; 


44  A  BIT  0'  LOVE  act  ii 

but  he*ve  a-lodged  in  my  'ouse  this  year  an'  more, 
and  always  'ad  an  'elpin'  'and  for  every  one.  I've 
got  a  likin'  for  him  an'  there's  an  end  of  it. 

Jarl^nd.  The  coward ! 

Trustaford.  I  don'  trouble  nothin'  about  that. 
Tarn  Jarland.  [Turning  to  Burlacombe]  ^Vhat  gits 
me  is  'e  don't  seem  to  'ave  no  zense  o'  what's  his 
own  praperty. 

Jarland.  Take  other  folk's  property  fast  enough! 
[He  saws  the  air  with  his  empty  pewter.  The  others 
have  all  turned  to  him,  drawn  by  the  fascination  that  a 
man  in  liquor  has  for  his  fellow-men.  The  hell  for 
church  has  begun  to  ring,  the  sun  is  down,  and  it  is 
getting  dusk.]  He  wants  one  on  his  crop,  an'  one  in 
'is  belly;  'e  wants  a  man  to  take  an'  gie  un  a  glide 
hidin' — zame  as  he  oughter  give  'is  fly-be-night  of  a 
wife.  [Str-^ngway  in  his  dark  clothes  has  entered,  and 
stands  by  the  door,  his  lips  compressed  to  a  colourless 
line,  his  thin,  darkish  face  grey-white]  Zame  as  a  man 
wid  ha'  gi'en  the  doctor,  for  takin'  what  isn't  his'n. 

All  but  Jarland  have  seen  Strangway.  He 
steps  forward,  J.\rkand  sees  him  now;  his 
jaw  drops  a  little,  and  he  is  silent. 

Strangway.  I  came  for  a  little  brandy,  Mr.  God- 
leigh — feeling  rather  faint.  Afraid  I  mightn't  get 
through  the  service. 

GoDLEiGH.  [With  professional  cow.posure]  ^larteil's 
Three  Star,  zurr,  or  'Ennessy's.' 

Strangway.  [Looking  at  Jarland]  Thank  you;  I 
believe  I  can  do  without,  now.  [He  turns  to  go. 


sc.  I  A  BIT  O'   LOVE  45 

In  the  deadly  silence,  Godleigh  touches  the 

arm  of  Jarland,  who,  leaning  against  the 

bar  with  the  pewter  in  his  hand,  is  staring 

with   his  strange  lowering   eyes  straight   at 

Straxgway. 

Jarland.  [Galvanized  by  the  touch  into  drunken  rage] 

Lave  me  be — I'll  talk  to  un — parson  or  no.     I'll  tache 

un  to  meddle  wi'  my  maid's  bird.     I'll  tache  un  to 

kape  'is  thievin'  'ands  to  'imself. 

[Strangway  turns  again. 
Clyst.  Be  quiet,  Tarn. 

Jarland.  [Never  loosing  Strangway  unth  his  eyes — 
like  a  bull-dog  who  sees  red]  That's  for  one  chake; 
zee  un  turn  t'other,  the  white-livered  biity !  WTiii 
lets  another  man  'ave  'is  wife,  an'  never  the  sperit  to 
go  vor  un ! 

BuRLACOMBE.  Shame,  Jarland;   quiet,  man! 

They   are   all   looking   at   Strangway,   ivho, 
under  Jarland's  drunken  insults  is  stand- 
ing rigid,  with  his  eyes  closed,  and  his  hands 
hard  clenched.     The  church  bell  has  stopped 
slow  ringing,   and   begun   its  five   mimdes* 
hurrying  note. 
Trust AFORD.  [Rising,  arul  trying  to  hook  his  arm 
into  Jarland's]  Come  away,  Tam;    yii've   a-'ad   tii 
much,  man. 

Jarland.  [Shaking  him  off]  Zee,  'e  darsen't  touch 
me;  I  might  'it  un  in  the  vace  an'  'e  darsen't;  'e's 
afraid — like  'e  was  o'  the  doctor. 

He  raises  the  pewter  as  though  to  fling  it,  but 


46  A  BIT  O'   LOVE  act  ii 

it  is  seized  by  Godleigh  from  behind,  and 
falls  clattering  to  the  floor.  Strangway  has 
not  moved. 

Jabland.  [Shaking  his  fist  almost  in  his  face]  Liike 
at  un,  liike  at  iin !    A  man  wi'  a  slut  for  a  wife 

As  he  utters  the  word  **wife'*  Strangway 
seizes  the  outstretched  fist,  and  with  a  ju- 
jitsu  movement,  draws  him  into  his  clutch, 
helpless.  And  as  they  sivay  and  struggle 
in  the  open  window,  with  the  false  strength 
of  fury  he  forces  Jarland  through.  There 
is  a  crash  of  broken  glass  from  outside. 
At  the  sound  Strangway  comes  to  him- 
self. A  look  of  agony  passes  over  his 
face.  His  eyes  light  on  Jiai  Bere,  tcho 
has  suddenly  risen,  and  stands  feebly 
clapping  his  hands.  Strangway  rushes 
out. 

Excitedly  gathering  at  the  wiruloWy  they  all 
speak  at  once. 

Clyst.  Tarn's  hatchin'  of  ylire  cucumbers,  Mr. 
Godleigh. 

Trustaford.  'E  did  crash;   haw,  haw! 

Freman.  'Twas  a  brave  throw,  zlirely.  "VMiii  wid 
a'  thought  it? 

Clyst.  Tarn's  crawlin'  out.  [Leaning  through  urin- 
doiv]  Hallo,  Tarn — 'ow's  t'  base,  old  man  ? 

Freman.  [Excitedly]  They'm  all  comin*  up  from 
churchyard  to  zee. 


SC.    I 


A  BIT  O'   LOVE 


47 


Trtjstaford.  Tarn  dii  liike  wonderful  aztonished; 
haw,  haw  !    Poor  old  Tarn  ! 

Clyst.  Can  yii  zee  curate?  Rackon  'e'm  gone 
into  church.  Aw,  yes;  gettin'  a  bit  dimsy— sarvice 
lime.  ["^  moment's  hush. 

Trtjstaford.  Well,  I'm  jiggered.  In  'alf  an  hour 
he'm  got  to  prache. 

GoDLEiGH.  'Tes  a  Christian  village,  boys. 

Feebly,  quietly,  Jim  Bere  laughs.     There  is 
silence;  but  the  bell  is  heard  still  ringing. 


CURTAIN. 


SCENE  n 


The  same — in  daylight  dying  fast.  A  lamp  is  burning 
on  the  bar.  A  chair  hxis  been  'placed  in  the  centre 
of  the  room,  facing  the  bench  under  the  yyindow, 
on  which  are  seated  from  right  to  left,  Godleigh, 
Sol  Potter  the  village  shopman,  Trustaford, 
BuRLAcoMBE,  Freman,  Jim  Bere,  and  Morse 
the  blacksmith.  Clyst  is  squatting  on  a  stool  by 
the  bar,  and  at  the  other  end  Jarland,  sobered  and 
lowering,  leans  against  the  lintel  of  the  porch  lead- 
ing to  the  door,  round  which  are  gathered  five  or 
six  sturdy  fellows,  dumb  as  fishes.    No  one  sits 


48  A   BIT  O'   LOVE  act  ii 

in  the  chair.  In  the  unnatural  silence  that  reigns, 
the  distant  sound  of  the  wheezy  church  organ  and 
voices  s^inging  can  be  heard. 

Trustaford.  [After  a  prolonged  clearing  of  his 
throat]  What  I  mean  to  zay  is  that  'tes  no  yiise,  not 
a  bit  o'  yiise  in  the  world,  not  diiin'  of  things  prop- 
erly. If  an'  in  case  we'm  to  carry  a  resolution  dis- 
approvin'  o'  curate,  it  must  all  be  done  so  as  no  one 
can't  zaj'  nothin'. 

Sol  Potter.  That's  what  I  zay,  Mr.  Trustaford; 
ef  so  be  as  'tis  to  be  a  village  meetin',  then  it  must 
be  all  done  proper. 

Freman.  That's  right,  Sol  Potter.  I  purpose  Mr. 
Sol  Potter  into  the  chair.     Whii  seconds  that.^ 

A  silence.     Voices  from  among  the  dumh-as- 
jishes:  "I  du." 

Clyst.  [Excitedly]  Yii  can't  putt  that  to  the  meetin'. 
Only  a  chairman  can  putt  it  to  the  meetin'.  I  pur- 
pose that  Mr.  Burlacombe — bein'  as  how  he's  chair- 
man o'  the  Parish  Council — take  the  chair. 

Freman.  Ef  so  be  as  I  can't  putt  it,  yM  can't  putt 
that  neither. 

Trustaford.  'Tes  not  a  bit  o'  yiise;  us  can't  'ave 
no  meetin'  without  a  chairman. 

GoDLEiGH.  Us  can't  'ave  no  chairman  without  a 
meetin'  to  elect  un,  that's  zUre.  [A  silence. 

Morse.  [Heavily]  To  my  way  o'  thinkin',  Mr.  God- 
leigh  speaks  zense;  us  must  'ave  a  meetin'  before  us 
can  'ave  a  chairman. 

Clyst.  Then  what  we  got  to  dii's  to  elect  a  meetin'. 


sc.  II  A  BIT   O'   LOVE  49 

BuKLACOMBE.  [Sourlij]  Yu'll  not  find  no  procedure 
for  that. 

Voices  from  among  the  dumb-as -fishes :    "Mr. 
Burlacombe  'e  oughter  know." 

Sol  Pottee.  [Scratching  his  head — icith  heavy  so- 
lemnity]  'Tes  my  belief  there's  no  other  way  to  dli, 
but  to  elect  a  chairman  to  call  a  meetin';  an'  then 
for  that  meetin'  to  elect  a  chairman. 

Clyst.  I  purpose  Mr.  Burlacombe  as  chairmem  to 
call  a  meetin'. 

Frem-*n.  I  purpose  Sol  Potter. 

GoDLEiGH.  Can't     'ave     tU     propositions     together 
before  a  meetin';    that's  apple-pie  ziire  var  zurtain. 
Voice  from  among  the  dumb-as-fishes :   "There 
ain't  no  meetin'  yet,  Sol  Potter  zays." 

Trustafoed.  Us  must  get  the  rights  of  it  zettled 
some'ow.  'Tes  like  the  darned  old  chicken  an'  the 
egg — meetin'  or  chairman — which  come  virst ."' 

Sol  Potter.  [Conciliating]  To  my  thinkin'  there 
shid  be  another  way  o'  duin'  it,  to  get  round  it  like 
with  a  circuml>endibus.  'T'all  comes  from  takin' 
different  \'iise,  in  a  manner  o'  spakin'. 

Fremax.  Yu  goo  an'  zet  in  that  chair. 

Sol  Potter.  [With  a  glance  at  Burl.a.combe— 
modestly]  I  shid'n  never  like  fur  to  dli  that,  with 
^Ir.  Burlacombe  zettin'  there. 

Burlacombe.  [Rising]  'Tes  all  darned  fiilishness. 

Amidst  an  uneasy  shufflement  of  feet  he  moves 
to  the  door,  and  goes  out  into  the  darkness. 


50  A  BIT  0'  LOVE  act  ii 

Clyst.  [Seeing  his  candidate  thus  depart]  Rackon 
curate's  pretty  well  thrli  by  now,  I'm  goin'  to  zee. 
[.45  he  passes  Jahiand]  'Ow's  ta  base,  old  man  ? 

[He  goes  out. 
One  of  the  dumh-as-fishes  moves  from  the  door 
and  Jills  the  space  left  on  the  bench  by  Buela- 
combe's  departure. 

Jarland.  Dam  all  this  puzzivantin' !  [To  Sol  Pot- 
ter] Goo  an'  zet  in  that  chair. 

Sol  Potter.  [Rising  and  going  to  the  chair;  there 
he  stands,  changing  from  one  to  the  other  of  his  short 
broad  feet  and  sweating  from  modesty  and  worth]  'Tes 
my  duty  now,  gentlemen,  to  call  a  meetin'  of  the 
parishioners  of  this  parish.  I  beg  therefore  to  de- 
clare that  this  is  a  meetin'  in  accordance  with  my 
duty  as  chairman  of  this  meetin'  which  elected  me 
chairman  to  call  this  meetin'.  And  I  purceed  to  vacate 
the  chair  so  that  this  meetin'  may  now  purceed  to 
elect  a  chairman. 

He  gets  up  from  the  chair,  and  wiping  the 
sweat  from  his  brow,  goes  back  to  his  seat. 

Freman.  Mr.  Chairman,  I  rise  on  a  point  of  order. 

Godleigh.  There  ain't  no  chairman. 

Freman.  I  don't  give  a  darn  for  that.  I  rise  on 
a  point  of  order. 

Godleigh.  'Tes  a  chairman  that  decides  points  of 
order.  'Tes  certain  yii  can't  rise  on  no  points  what- 
ever till  there's  a  chairman. 

Teustaford.  'Tes  no  yiise  yiire  risin',  not  the  least 


sc.  II  A  BIT  O'  LOVE  51 

bit  in  the  world,  till  there's  some  one  to  zet  j'li  down 
again.     Haw,  haw ! 

Voice  from  the  dumb-as-fishes :    **AIr.  Trusta- 

ford  'e's  right." 

Freman.  ^^llat  I  zay  is  the  chairman  ought  never 

to  'ave  vacated  the  chair  till  I'd  risen  on  my  point  of 

order.     I  purpose  that  he  goo  and  zet  down  again. 

GoDLEiGH.  Yii  can't  purpose  that  to  this  meetin'; 

yii  can  only  purpose  that  to  the  old  meetin'  that's 

not  zettin'  any  longer. 

Freman.  [Excitedly]  I  don'  care  what  old  meetin' 
'tis  that's  zettin'.  I  purpose  that  Sol  Potter  goo  an' 
zet  in  that  chair  again,  while  I  rise  on  my  point  of 
order. 

Trustaford.  [Scratching  his  head]  'Tesn't  regular — 
but  I  guess  j'ii've  got  to  goo,  Sol,  or  us  shan't  'ave 
no  peace. 

Sol  Potter,  still  wiping  his  brow,  goes  back 
to  the  chair. 
Morse.  [Stolidly— to  Fresian]  Zet  down,  "Will  Fre- 
man. [He  pulls  at  him  with  a  blacksmith's  arm. 
Frejian.  [Remaining   erect  with  an  effort]  I'm  not 
a-goin'  to  zet  down  till  I've  arisen. 

Jarland.  Now  then,  there  'e  is  in  the  chair.  "VMiat's 
yiire  point  of  order? 

Freman.  [Darting  his  eyes  here  and  there,  and  fling- 
ing his  hand  up  to  his  gipsy-like  head]  'Twas — 'twas — 
Darned  ef  y'  'aven't  putt  it  clean  out  o'  my  'ead. 

Jarl.\nd.  We  can't  wait  for  yiire  points  of  order. 
Come  out  o'  that  chair,  Sol  Potter. 


52  A   BIT  O'   LOVE  act  ii 

Sol  Potter  rises  and  is  about  to  vacate  the 
chair. 

Freala-N.  I  know !  There  ought  to  'a  been  minutes 
taken.  YU  can't  'ave  no  meetin'  without  minutes. 
^\^len  us  comes  to  electin'  a  chairman  o'  the  next 
meetin',  'e  won't  'ave  no  minutes  to  read. 

Sol  Potter.  'Twas  only  to  putt  down  that  I  was 
elected  chairman  to  elect  a  meetin'  to  elect  a  chair- 
man to  preside  over  a  meetin'  to  pass  a  resolution 
dalin'  wi'  the  curate.     That's  aisy  set  down,  that  is. 

Freman.  [Mollified]  We'll  'ave  that  zet  down,  then, 
while  we're  electin'  the  chairman  o'  the  next  meetin'. 

[A  silence. 

Trustaford.  Well  then,  seein'  this  is  the  praaper 
old  meetin'  for  carryin'  the  resolution  about  the  curate, 
I  purpose  Mr.  Sol  Potter  take  the  chair. 

Frem.\n.  I  purpose  Mr.  Trustaford.  I  'aven't  a-got 
nothin'  against  Sol  Potter,  but  seein'  that  he  elected 
the  meetin'  that's  to  elect  'im,  it  might  be  said  that 
'e  was  electin'  of  himzelf  in  a  manner  of  spakin'.  Us 
don't  want  that  said. 

Morse.  [Amid  meditative  grunts  frmn  the  dumh-as- 
fishes]  There's  some-at  in  that.  One  o'  they  tu  pur- 
posals  must  be  putt  to  the  meetin'. 

Freman.  Second  must  be  putt  virst,  fur  zlire. 

Trustaford.  I  dunno  as  I  wants  to  zet  in  that 
chair.  To  hiss  the  curate,  'tis  a  ticklish  sort  of  a  job 
after  that.     Vurst  comes  afore  second,  Will  Freeman. 

Freman.  Second  is  amendment  to  virst.  'Tes  the 
amendments  is  putt  virst. 


sc.  II  A   BIT   O'   LOVE  53 

Trustaford.  'Ow's  that,  Mr.  Godleigh?  I'm  not 
particular  eggzac'Iy  to  a  dilly  zort  of  a  point  like 
that. 

Sol  Potter.  [Scratching  his  head]  'Tes  a  very  nice 
point,  for  ziire. 

Godleigh.  'Tes  undoubtedly  for  the  chairman  to 
decide. 

Voice  from   the  duvib-as-fishes :    "But  there 
ain't  no  chairman  yet." 

Jarland.  Sol  Potter's  chairman. 

Freniax.  No,  'e  ain't. 

Morse.  Yes,  'e  is — 'e's  chairman  till  this  second 
old  meetin'  gets  on  the  go. 

Fremax.  I  deny  that.  "\Miat  dii  yii  say,  Mr. 
Trustaford  'i 

Trustaford.  I  can't  'ardly  tell.  It  dii  zeem  a 
darned  long-sufferin'  sort  of  a  business  altogether. 

[.4  silence. 

Morse.  [Slowly]  Tell  'ee  what  'tis,  us  shan't  dii  no 
glide  like  this. 

Godleigh.  'Tes  for  Mr.  Freman  or  Mr.  Trustaford, 
one  or  t'other  to  withdraw  their  motions. 

Trustaford.  [After  a  pause,  with  cautious  generos- 
ity] I've  no  objections  to  withdrawin'  mine,  if  Will 
Freman'll  withdraw  his'n. 

Freniax.  I  won't  never  be  be'indhand.  If  Mr. 
Trustaford  withdraws,  I  withdraws  mine. 

Morse.  [With  relief]  That's  zensible.  Putt  the 
motion  to  the  meetin'. 


54  A   BIT   O'   LOVE  act  ii 

Sol  Potter.  There  ain't  no  motion  left  to  putt. 

[Sile?ic£  of  consternatioru 
[In  the  confusion  Jm  Bere  is  seen  to  stand  up. 
GoDLEiGH.  Jim  Bere  to  spake.    Silence  for  Jim ! 
Voices.  Aye !     Silence  for  Jim  ! 
Sol  Potter.  Well,  Jim  ? 
Jm.  [Smiling  and  slow]  Nothin'  diiin'. 
Trustaford.  Bravo, Jim!    Yii'm right.     Bestzense 

yet ! 

[Applause  from  the  dumh-as-fishes. 

[With  his  smile  brightening,  Jm  resumes  his  seat. 
Sol  Potter.  [Wiping  his  brow]  Dii  seem  to  me, 
gentlemen,  seem'  as  we'm  got  into  a  bit  of  a  tangle 
in  a  manner  of  spakin',  'twid  be  the  most  zimplest 
and  vairest  way  to  begin  all  over  vrom  the  beginnin', 
so's  t'ave  it  all  vair  an*  square  for  every  one. 

In  the  uproar  of  "Aye"  and  "No,"  it  is  no- 
ticed that  Tibet  Jarl.a.nd  is  standing  in 
front  of  her  father  with  her  finger,  for  want 
of  something  better,  in  her  mouth. 
TiBBT.  [7m  her  stolid  voice]  Please,  sister  Mercy  says, 
curate  'ave  got  to  "Lastly."  [Jarland  picJcs  her  up, 
and  there  is  silence.]  An'  please  to  come  quick. 
Jarland.  Come  on,  mates;    quietly  now! 

[He  goes  out,  and  all  begin  to  follow  him. 

Morse.  [Slowest,  save  for  Sol  Potter]  'Tes   rare 

lucky  us  was  all  agreed  to  hiss  the  curate  afore  us 

began  the  botherin'  old  meetin',  or  us  widn'  'ardly 

'ave  'ad  time  to  settle  what  to  dii. 


sc.  II  A  BIT  O'  LOVE  55 

Sol  Potter.  [Scratching    his    head]  Aye,    'tes    rare 
lucky,  but  I  dunno  if  'tes  altogether  reg'lar. 


CUBTAIN. 


SCENE  m 

The  village  green  before  the  churchyard  and  the  yew- 
trees  at  the  gate.  Into  the  pitch  dark  under  the 
yews,  light  comes  out  through  the  half -open  church 
door.  Figures  are  lurking,  or  moving  stealthily 
— people  loaiting  and  listening  to  the  sound  of  a 
voice  speaking  in  the  church  words  that  are  inau- 
dible. Excited  whispering  and  faint  giggles  come 
from  the  deepest  yew-tree  shade,  made  ghostly  by 
the  white  faces  and  the  frocks  of  young  girls  con- 
tinually flitting  up  and  back  in  the  blackness. 
A  girl's  figure  comes  flying  out  from  the  porch, 
down  the  path  of  light,  and  joins  the  stealthy 
group. 

Whisperixg  Voice  of  Mercy.  TMiere's  'e  got  to 
now,  Gladys.^ 

Whispering  Voice  of  Gladys.  'E've  just  finished. 

Voice  of  Coxxie.  \Miu  pushed  t'door  open  ? 

Voice  of  Gladys.  Tim  Clyst~I  giv'  it  a  little 
push,  meself. 


56  A   BIT   O'   LOVE  act  ii 

Voice  of  Connie.  Oh! 

Voice  of  Gladys.  Tim  Clyst's  gone  in ! 

Another  Voice.  0-o-o-h ! 

Voice  of  Mercy.  Whli  else  is  there,  tii.? 

Voice  of  Gladys.  Ivy's  there,  an'  old  Mrs.  Pot- 
ter, an'  tu  o'  the  maids  from  th'Hall;  that's  all  as 
ever. 

Voice  of  Connie.  Not  the  old  grey  mare.'* 

Voice  of  Gladys.  No.  She  ain't  ther'.  'Twill 
just  be  th'ymn  now,  an'  the  Blessin'.  Tibby  gone 
for  'em.^* 

Voice  of  Mercy.  Yes. 

Voice  of  Connie.  Mr.  Burlacombe's  gone  in  home, 
I  saw  'im  pass  by  just  now — 'e  don'  like  it.  Father 
don't  like  it  neither. 

Voice  of  Mercy.  Mr.  Strangway  shouln'  'ave 
taken  my  skylark,  an'  thrown  father  out  o'  winder. 
'Tis  goin'  to  be  awful  fun  !    Oh  ! 

She  jwnj)S  -up  and  down  in  the  darkness. 
And  a  voice  from  far  in  the  shadow  says: 
"Hsssh!  Quiet,  yU  maids!"  The  voice 
has  ceased  speaking  in  the  church.  There 
is  a  moment's  dead  silence.  The  voice 
speaks  again;  then  from  the  wheezy  little 
organ  come  the  first  faint  chords  of  a 
hymn. 

Gladys.  "Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee!" 
Voice  of  Mercy.  'Twill  be   funny,   with   no   one 
*ardly  singin'. 


sc.  Ill  A  BIT   O'   LOVE  57 

The  sound  of  the  old  hymn  sung  by  just  six 
voices  comes  out  to  them  rather  sweet  and 
clear. 

Gl.\dys.  [Softly]  'Tis    pretty,    tu.     Why\    They're 
only  singin'  one  verse  ! 

A  moment's  silence,  and  the  voice  speaks, 
uplifted,   pronouncing  the   Blessing:    "The 

peace    of    God "    As    the    last    words 

die  away,  dark  figures  frovi  the  inn  ap- 
proach over  the  grass,  till  quite  a  crowd 
seems  standing  there  loithout  a  word  spoken. 
Then  from  out  the  church  porch  come  the 
congregation.  Tm  Clyst  first,  hastily  lost 
among  the  waiting  figures  in  the  dark; 
old  Mrs.  Potter,  a  half -blind  old  lady 
groping  her  way  and  perceiving  nothing 
out  of  the  ordinary;  the  two  maids  from 
the  Hall,  self-conscious  and  scared,  scut- 
tling along.  Last,  Ivy  Burl.\combe  quickly, 
and  starting  back  at  the  dim,  half -hidden 
crowd. 

Voice  of  Gladys.  [Whispering]  Ivy !    Here,  quick  ! 
Ivy  sways,  darts  off  towards  the  voice,  and  is 
lost  in  the  shadoio. 

Voice  of  Fremax.  [Low]  Wait,    boys,    till   I   give 
signal. 

Two  or  three  squirks  and  giggles;  Tm  Clyst's 
voice:  "Ya-as!  Don't  'ee  tread  on  my 
toe!"  A  soft,  frightened  "0-o-h!"  frrnn 
a    girl.     Some    quick,   excited   whisperings: 


58  A  BIT   0'   LOVE  act  ii 

"Luke!"  "Zee  there!"  "He's  comin'!" 
And  then  a  'perfectly  dead  silence.  The 
figure  of  Straxgway  w  seen  in  his  dark 
clothes,  passing  from  the  vestry  to  the  church 
porch.  He  stands  plainly  visible  in  the 
lighted  porch,  locking  the  door,  then  steps 
forward.  Just  as  he  reaches  the  edge  of 
the  porch,  a  low  hiss  breaks  the  silence.  It 
swells  very  gradually  into  a  long,  hissing 
groan.  Straxgway  stands  motionless,  his 
hand  over  his  eyes,  staring  into  the  dark- 
ness. A  girVs  figure  can  be  seen  to  break 
out  of  the  darkness  and  rush  away.  When 
at  last  the  groaning  has  died  into  sheer  ex- 
pectancy, Straxgway  drops  his  hand. 

Str,\xgway.  [In   a  low  voice]  Yes !    I'm  glad.     Is 
Jarland  there? 

Froiax.  He's  'ere — no  thanks  to  yU  !    Hsss  ! 

[The  hiss  breaks  out  again,  then  dies  away. 

L\rl-\xd's  Voice.  [Threatening]  Try  if  yii  can  dii 
it  again. 

Straxgway.  No,  Jarland,  no!    I  ask  you  to  for- 
give me.     Humbly ! 

[A  hesitating  silence,  broken  by  muttering. 

Clyst's  Voice.  Bravo! 

A  Voice.  That's  vair! 

A  Voice.  *E's  afraid  o'  the  sack— that's  what  'tis. 

A  Voice.  [Groaning]  'E's  a  praaper  coward. 

A  Voice.  Whii  funked  the  doctor  .^ 

Clyst's  Voice.  Shame  on  'ee,  then! 


sc.  Ill  A  BIT  O'  LOVE  59 

Strangway.  You're  right — all  of  j'ou  !    I'm  not  fit ! 
An  uneasy  and  excited  muttering  and  whisper- 
ing dies  away  into  renewed  silence. 
StrjlSGWAY.  AMiat  I  did  to  Tarn  Jarland  is  not  the 
real  cause  of  what  you're  doing,  is  it?     I  understand. 
But  don't  be  troubled.     It's  all  over.     I'm  going — 
you'll   get   some    one    better.     Forgive    me,   Jarland. 
I  can't  see  your  face — it's  verj'  dark. 

Freman's    Voice.    [Mocking]    Wait    for    the    full 
miine. 

GoDLEiGH.  [Very  low]  "My  'eart  'E  lighted  not!" 
Strangway.  [Starting  at  the  sound  of  his  own  words 
thus  mysteriously  given  him  out  of  the  darkness]  Who- 
ever found  that,  please  tear  it  up !  [After  a  moment's 
silence]  Many  of  you  have  been  very  kind  to  me. 
You  won't  see  me  again —     Good-bye,  all ! 

He  stands  for  a  second  motionless,  then  moves 

resolutely  doum  into  the  darkness  so  peopled 

with  shadows. 

Uncertain  Voices  as  he  passes.  Good-bye,  zurr! 

Good  luck,  zurr !  [He  has  gone. 

Clyst's  Voice.  Three  cheers  for  Mr.   Strangway ! 

And  a  queer,  strangled  cheer,  with  groans  still 

threading  it,  arises. 


CURTAIN. 


ACT  III 

SCENE  I 

In  the  BuRL-\coMBEs'  hall-sittingroom  the  curtains  are 
drawn,  a  lamp  burns,  and  the  door  stands  open. 
BuRLACOMBE  and  his  icife  are  hovering  there, 
listening  to  the  sound  of  mingled  cheers  and 
groaning. 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  Aw  !  my  giideness — what  a 
thing  t'appen !  I'd  siiner  'a  lost  all  me  ducks.  [She 
makes  towards  the  inner  door]  I  can't  never  face  'im. 

Burlacombe.  'E  can't  expect  nothin'  else,  if  'e  act 
like  that. 

Mrs.  Burl-\combe.  'Tes  only  dliin'  as  'e'd  be  done 
by. 

BuRL-A-COMBE.  Aw !  Yu  Can't  go  on  forgivin'  'ere, 
an'  forgivin'  there.     'Tesn't  nat'ral. 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  'Tes  the  mischief  'e'm  a  par- 
son. 'Tes  'im  bein'  a  lamb  o'  God — or  'twidden  be 
so  quare  for  'im  to  be  forgivin'. 

Burlacombe.  Yii  goo  an'  make  un  a  glide  'ot  drink. 

Mrs.  Buri^\combe.  Poor  soul !  AMiat'll  'e  dli  now, 
I  wonder?  [Under  her  breath]  'E's  comin' ! 

She    goes    hurriedly.    Burlacombe,    with    a 
61 


62  A  BIT  O'   LOVE  act  hi 

startled    look    hack,    wavers    and    makes    to 

Jolloic  her,  hut  stops  undecided  in  the  inner 

doorway.     Stil-^-NGWAY   comes   in  Jrom   the 

darkness.     He    turns    to    the    window    and 

drops  overcoat  and  hat  and  the  church  key 

on  the  window-seat,   looking  about  him  as 

men   do  when  too  hard  driven,   and   never 

fixing  his  eyes  long  enough  on  anything  to 

see  it.    BuRL.\coMBE,  closing  the  door  into 

the  house,  advances  a  step.     At  the  sound 

Stbasgw AY  faces  round. 

BuRLACOMBE.  I  wanted  for  yii  to  know,  zurr,  that 

me  an'  mine  'adn't  nothin'   to  dii   wi'   that  darned 

fuUshness,  just  now. 

Straxgway.  [With  a  ghost  of  a  smile]  Thank  you, 
Burlacombe.  It  doesn't  matter.  It  doesn't  matter  a 
bit. 

Burlacombe.  I  'ope  yii  won't  take  no  notice  of  it. 
Like  a  lot  o'  silly  bees  they  get.  [After  an  uneasy 
pause]  Yu'll  excuse  me  spakin'  of  this  mornin',  an' 
what  'appened.  'Tes  a  brave  pity  it  cam'  on  yii  so 
sudden-like  before  yn  'ad  time  to  think.  'Tcs  a  sort 
o'  thing  a  man  shude  zet  an'  chew  upon.  Certainly 
'tes  not  a  bit  o'  yiise  goin'  against  human  nature.  Ef 
yii  don't  stand  up  for  yiireself  there's  no  one  else  not 
goin'  to.  'Tes  yiire  not  'avin'  done  that  'as  made 
'em  so  rampageous.  [Stealing  another  look  at  Strang- 
way]  Yii'll  excuse  me,  zurr,  spakin'  of  it,  but  'tes 
amazin'  sad  to  zee  a  man  let  go  his  own,  without  a 
word  o'  darin'.     'Tes  as  ef  'e  'ad  no  passions-like. 


sc.  I  A  BIT  O'   LOVE  68 

Strangway.  Look  at  me,  Burlacombe. 

BuRLACOMBE  looks  up,  trying  hard  to  keep 
his  eyes  on  Strangway 's,  that  seem  to  hum 
in  his  thin  face. 
Strangway.  Do  I  look  like  that?    Please,  please! 
[He  touches  his  breast]  I've  too  much  here.     Please ! 

Burlacombe.  [With  a  sort  of  startled  respect]  Well, 
zurr,  'tes  not  for  me  to  zay  nothin',  certainly. 

He  turns  and  after  a  slow  look  hack  at  Strang- 
way goes  out, 
Strangway.  [To  himself]  Passions!    No  passions! 
Ha! 

The  Older  door  is  opened  and  Ivy  Burlacombe 
appears^  and,  seeing  him,  stops.  Then, 
coming  softly  towards  him,  she  speaks 
timidly. 

Ivy.  Oh!  Mr.  Strangway,  Mrs.  Bradmere's  comin* 
from  the  Rectory.  I  ran  an'  told  'em.  Oh!  'twas 
awful. 

Strangway  starts,  stares  at  her,  and  turning 
on  his  heel,  goes  into  the  house.  Ivy's  face 
is  all  puckered,  as  if  she  were  on  the  point 
of  tears.  There  is  a  gentle  scratching  at  the 
door,  which  has  not  heen  quite  closed. 

Voice  of  Gladys.  [Whispering]  Ivy !    Come  on ! 
Ivy.  I  won't. 

Voice  of  Mercy.  Yii  must.  Us  can't  dii  with- 
out yii. 


64  A  BIT  O'   LOVE  act  hi 

Ivy.  [Going  to  the  door]  I  don't  want  to. 
Voice  of  Gladys.  **  Naughty  maid,  she  won't  come 
out,"     Ah !  du  'ee  ! 

Voice  of  Connie.  Tim  Clyst  an'  Bobbie's  comin'; 
us'll  only  be  six  anyway.  Us  can't  dance  "figure  of 
eight"  without  yii. 

Ivy.  [Stamping  her  foot]  I  don't  want  to  dance  at 
all !     I  don't. 

Mercy.  Aw!  She's  temper.  Yli  can  bang  on 
tambourine,  then ! 

Gladys.  [Running  in]  Quick,  Ivy !  Here's  the  old 
grey  mare  comin'  down  the  green.     Quick. 

With  whispering  and  scuffling,  gurgling  and 
squeaking,  the  reluctant  Ivy's  hand  is  caught 
and  she  is  jerked  away.    In  their  haste  they 
have  left  the  door  open  behind  them. 
Voice  of  Mrs.  Bradmere.  [Outside]  W'lio's    that? 
She   knocks   loudly,   and   rings   a   hell;    then, 
without  waiting,  comes  in  through  the  open 
door. 
Noting  the  overcoat  and  hat  on  the  window-sill 
she  inoves  across  to  ring  the  hell.     But  as 
she  does  so,  Mrs.  Burlacombe,  followed  by 
BuRLACOMBE,  com^s  in  from  the  house. 
Mrs.  Bradmere.  This  disgraceful  business !  Where's 
Mr.  Strangway  ?     I  see  he's  in. 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  Yes,  m'm,  he'm  in— but— but 
Burlacombe  du  zay  he'm  terrible  upzet. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  I  should  think  so.  I  must  see 
him — at  once. 


sc.  I  A  BIT  O'   LOVE  65 

Mrs.  Buelacombe.  I  doubt  bed's  the  best  place 
for  'un,  an'  a  glide  'ot  driiik.  Burlacombe  zays  he'm 
like  a  man  standin'  on  the  edge  of  a  cliff,  and  the 
laste  tipsy  o'  wind  might  throw  un  over. 

]\Irs.  Br-\dmere.  [To  Burlacombe]  You've  seen 
him,  then? 

Burlacombe.  Yeas;  an'  I  don't  like  the  liike  of 
un — not  a  little  bit,  I  don't. 

Mrs.  Burlacombe.  [Almost  to  herself]  Poor  soul; 
'e've  a-'ad  tu  much  to  try  un  this  yer  long  time 
past.  I've  a-seen  'tis  sperrit  comin'  thru  'is  body, 
as  y\l  might  zay.  He's  torn  to  bits,  that's  what 
'tis. 

Burlacombe.  'Twas  a  praaper  cowardly  thing  to 
hiss  a  man  when  he's  down.  But  'twas  natural  tli, 
in  a  manner  of  spakin'.  But  'tesn't  that  troublin' 
'im.  'Tes  m  here  [touching  his  forehead],  along  of  his 
wife,  to  my  thinkin'.  They  zay  'e've  a-known  about 
*er  afore  she  went  away.  Think  of  what  'e've  'ad 
to  kape  in  all  this  time.  'Tes  enough  to  drive  a  man 
silly  after  that.  I've  a-locked  my  gun  up.  I  see  a 
man  luke  like  that  once  before — an'  sure  enough  'e 
was  dead  in  the  mornin' ! 

Mrs.  Br.\dmere.  Nonsense,  Burlacombe  !  [To  Mrs. 
Burlacombe]  Go  and  tell  him  I  want  to  see  him — 
must  see  him.  [Mrs.  Burlacombe  goes  into  the  house] 
And  look  here,  Burlacombe;  if  we  catch  any  one, 
man  or  woman,  talking  of  this  outside  the  village, 
it'll  be  the  end  of  their  tenancy,  whoever  they  may  be. 
Let  them   all  know   that.     I'm  glad  he   threw   that 


66  A  BIT  0'   LOVE  act  hi 

drunken  fellow  out  of  the  window,  though  it  was  a 
little 

BuRL.\coMBE.  Aye!  The  niispapers  would  be 
praaper  glad  of  that,  for  a  tiddy  bit  o'  nlise. 

]VIrs.  Bradmere.  My  goodness !  Yes !  The  men 
are  all  up  at  the  inn.  Go  and  tell  them  what  I  said 
— it's  not  to  get  about.     Go  at  once,  Burlacombe. 

BuRLACOMBE.  Must  be  a  turrable  job  for  'im,  every 
one's  knowin'  about  'is  wife  like  this.  He'm  a  proud 
man  tii,  I  think.     'Tes  a  funny  business  altogether ! 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  Horrible !  Poor  fellow !  Now, 
come  !     Do  your  best,  Burlacombe  ! 

Burlacombe  touches  his  forelock  and  goes. 
Mrs.  Bradmere  stands  quite  still,  think- 
ing. Then  going  to  the  photograph,  she 
stares  up  at  it. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  You  baggage ! 

Strangway  has  come  in  noiselessly,  and  is 
standing  just  behind  her.  She  turns,  and 
sees  him.  There  is  something  so  still,  so 
startlingly  still  in  his  figure  and  white  face, 
that  she  cannot  for  tlie  moment  find  her 
voice. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  [At  last]  This  is  most  distressing. 
I'm  deeply  sorry.  [Then,  as  he  does  not  answer,  she 
goes  a  step  closer]  I'm  an  old  woman;  and  old  women 
must  take  liberties,  you  know,  or  they  couldn't  get 
on  at  all.  Come  now !  Let's  try  and  talk  it  over 
calmly  and  see  if  we  can't  put  things  right. 


SC.    I 


A   BIT  O'   LOVE  67 


Str-OsGWAy.  You  were  very  good  to  come;  but  I 
would  rather  not. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  I  know  you're  in  as  grievous 
trouble  as  a  man  can  be. 

Strangway.  Yes. 

Mrs.  Br-\dmere.  [With  a  Utile  sound  of  sympathy] 
^Miat  are  you— thirty-five  ?  I'm  sLxty-eight  if  I'm 
a  day — old  enough  to  be  your  mother.  I  can  feel 
what  you  must  have  been  through  all  these  months, 
I  can  indeed.  But  you  know  you've  gone  the  wrong 
way  to  work.  We  aren't  angels  down  here  below! 
And  a  son  of  the  Church  can't  act  as  if  for  himself 
alone.     The  eyes  of  every  one  are  on  him. 

Strangway.  [Taking  the  church  key  from  the  icindow- 
sill]  Take  this,  please. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  Xo,  no,  no!  Jarland  deserved 
all  he  got.     You  had  great  provocation 

Strangway.  It's  not  Jarland.  [Holding  out  the  key] 
Please  take  it  to  the  Rector.  I  beg  his  forgiveness. 
[Touching  his  breast]  There's  too  much  I  can't  speak 
of — can't  make  plain.     Take  it  to  him,  please. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  :Mr.  Strangway— I  don't  accept 
this.  I  am  sure  my  husband— the  Church— will  never 
accept 

Str-\:n*gway.  Take  it ! 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  [Almost  unconsciously  taking  it] 
Mmd!  We  don't  accept  it.  You  must  come  and 
talk  to  the  Rector  to-morrow.  You're  overwrought. 
You'll  see  it  all  in  another  light,  then. 


68  A  BIT  O'   LOVE  act  m 

Strangway.  [With  a  strange  smile]  Perhaps.  [Lift- 
ing the  blind]  Beautiful  night!  Couldn't  be  more 
beautiful ! 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  [Startled — softly]  Don't  turn  away 
from  those  who  want  to  help  you!  I'm  a  grumpy 
old  woman,  but  I  can  feel  for  you.  Don't  try  and 
keep  it  all  back,  like  this !  A  woman  would  cry,  and 
it  would  all  seem  clearer  at  once.  Now  won't  you 
let  me ? 

Strangw^ay.  No  one  can  help,  thank  you. 

IVIrs.  Bradmere.  Come !  Things  haven't  gone 
beyond  mending,  really,  if  you'll  face  them.  [Point- 
ing to  the  photograph]  You  know  what  I  mean.  We 
dare  not  foster  immorality. 

Strangway.  [Quivering  as  at  a  jahbed  nerve]  Don't 
speak  of  that! 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  But  think  what  you've  done,  Mr. 
Strangway !  If  you  can't  take  your  wife  back,  surely 
you  must  divorce  her.  You  can  never  help  her  to 
go  on  like  this  in  secret  sin. 

Strangway.  Torture  her — one  way  or  the  other  .'^ 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  No,  no;  I  want  you  to  do  as  the 
Church — as  all  Christian  society  would  wish.  Come  I 
You  can't  let  this  go  on.  My  dear  man,  do  your 
duty  at  all  costs  ! 

Strangway.  Break  her  heart? 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  Then  you  love  that  woman — more 
than  God ! 

Strangway.  [His  face  quivering]  Love! 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  They  told  me —    Yes,  and  I  can 


6c.  I  A   BIT  O'   LO^^  69 

see  you*re  in  a  bad   way.     Come,  pull  yourself  to- 
gether!    You  can't  defend  what  you're  doing. 

Strangway.  I  do  not  try. 

Mhs.  Bradmere.  I  must  get  you  to  see  !  My  father 
was  a  clergyman;  I'm  married  to  one;  I've  two 
SODS  in  the  Church.  I  know  what  I'm  talking 
about.  It's  a  priest's  business  to  guide  the  people's 
lives. 

Strangway.  [Very  loiv]  But  not  mine !     No  more ! 

!Mrs.  Bradmere.  [Looking  at  him  shrewdly]  There's 
something  very  queer  about  you  to-night.  You  ought 
to  a  see  doctor. 

Stra^'gway.  [A  smile  coming  arid  going  on  his  lips] 
If  I  am  not  better  soon 

IMrs.  Bradmere.  I  know  it  must  be  terrible  to  feel 
that  everybody —  [A  convulsive  shiver  passes  over 
Str-Otgway,  and  he  shrinks  against  the  door]  But 
come !  Live  it  down !  \With  anger  growing  at  his 
silence]  Live  it  down,  man  I  You  can't  desert  your 
post — and  let  these  villagers  do  what  they  like  with 
us.^  Do  you  realize  that  you're  letting  a  woman, 
who  has  treated  you  abominably — yes,  abominably 
— go  scot-free,  to  live  comfortably  with  another  man  '■!  ^y 
WTiat  an  example ! 

STR.A.NGWAY.  Will  you,  please,  not  speak  of  that ! 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  I  must !  This  great  Church  of 
ours  is  based  on  the  rightful  condemnation  of  wrong- 
doing. There  are  times  when  forgiveness  is  a  sin, 
Michael  Strangway.  You  must  keep  the  whip  hand. 
Yoy  Bjyst  fight  j 


P 


TO  A   BIT   O'   LOVE  act  hi 

Strangway.  Fight!  [Touching  Jiis  heart]  My  fight 
is  here.  Have  you  ever  been  in  hell?  For  months 
and  months — burned  and  longed;  hoped  against  hope; 
killed  a  man  in  thought  day  by  day?  Never  rested, 
for  love  and  hate?  I — condemn!  I — judge!  No! 
It's  rest  I  have  to  find— somewhere — somehow — rest! 
And  how — how  can  I  find  rest? 

IVIes.  Bradmere.  [JVho  has  listened  to  his  outburst 
in  a  sort  of  coma]  You  are  a  strange  man!  One  of 
these  days  you'll  go  off  your  head  if  you  don't  take 
care. 

Strangw^\y.  [Smiling]  One  of  these  days  the  flowers 
will  grow  out  of  me;   and  I  shall  sleep. 

Mrs.  Bradmere  stares  at  his  smiling  face  a 

long  moment  in  silence,  then  with  a  little 

sound,  half  sniff,  half  snort,  she  goes  to  the 

door.     There  she  halts. 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  And  you  mean  to  let  all  this  go 

on —     Your  wife 

Str.\kgway.  Go  !     Please  go  ! 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  Men  like  you  have  been  bur- 
ied at  cross-roads  before  now !  Take  care !  God 
punishes ! 

Strangway.  Is  there  a  God  ? 

Mrs.  Bradmere.  Ah !  [With  finality]  You  must  see 
a  doctor. 

Seeing  that  the  look  on  his  face  does  not  change, 
she  opens  the  door,  and  hurries  away  into 
the  moonlight. 
Strangway  crosses  the  room  to  where  his  wife's 


sc.  I  A   BIT   O'   LOVE  71 

'picture  hangs,  and  stands  before  if,  his  hands 
grasping  the  frame.  Then  he  takes  it  from 
the  wall,  and  lays  it  face  upwards  on  the 
window-seat. 
Straxgwat.  [To  himself]  Gone!  ^liat  is  there, 
now? 

The  sound  of  an  owVs  hooting  is  floating  in, 
and   of   voices  from   the   green    outside   the 
inn. 
Str.^-gway.   [To     himself]   Gone!     Taken     faith — 
hope — life ! 

Jni    Bere    comes    wandering    into    the    open 
doorway. 
Jm  Bere.  Glide  avenin',  zurr. 

At  his  slow  gait,  with  his  feeble  smile,  he  comes 

in,  and  standing  by  the  window-seat  beside 

the   long   dark   coat  that  still   lies  there,   he 

looks   down    at    Straxgwat    with   his    lost 

eyes. 

Jm.  Yii  threw  un  out  of  winder.     I  cud  'ave,  once, 

I   cud.  [Str.aa'GWay    neither   moves    nor   speaks;    and 

Jm  Bere  goes  on  with  his  unimaginably  slow  speech] 

They'm  laughin'  at  yii,  zurr.     An'  so  I  come  to  tell 

'ee   how   to   dii.     'Twas   full   miine — when   I   caught 

'em,  him  an'  my  girl.     I  caught  'em.  [With  a  strange 

and  awful  flash  of  fire]  I  did;    an'  I  tuk  un  [He  takes 

up  Str-\xgway's  coat  and  grips  it  with  his  trembling 

hands,   as   a   man   grips   another's   neck]  like   that — I 

tuk  un. 


72  A   BIT   O'   LOVE  act  hi 

As  the  coat  falls,  like  a  body  out  of  which  the 
breath  has  been  squeezed,  Strangway,  rising, 
catches  it. 

Strangway.  [Gripping  the  coat]  And  he  fell ! 

He  lets  the  coat  fall  on  the  floor,  and  puts  his 
foot  on  it.  Then,  staggering  back,  he  leans 
against  the  window. 

3m.  YU  see,  I  loved  'er — I  did.  [The  lost  look  comes 
back  to  his  eijes]  Then  somethin' — I  dunno — and — 
and —  [He  lifts  his  hand  and  passes  it  up  and  down 
his  side]  'Twas  like  this  for  ever. 

[Theij  gaze  at  each  other  in  silence. 

I  Jim.  [At  last]  I  come  to  tell  yii.    They'm  all  laughin' 

V  at  yii.  But  jii'm  strong — yu  go  over  to  Durford  to 
that  doctor  man,  an'  take  un  like  I  did.  [He  tries 
again  to  make  the  sign  of  squeezing  a  mans  neck]  They 
can't  laugh  at  yii  no  more,  then.  Tha's  what  I  come 
to  tell  yii.  Tha's  the  way  for  a  Christian  man  to  dii. 
Glide  naight,  zurr.     I  come  to  tell  yee. 

Strangway  motions  to  him  in  silence.  And, 
very  slowly,  Jim  Bere  passes  out. 

The  voices  of  men  coming  doion  the  green  are 
heard. 

Voices.  Giide  naight.  Tarn.  Giide  naight,  old 
Jim! 

Voices.  Giide  naight,  Mr.  Trustaiord.  'Tes  a  won- 
derful fine  miine. 


sc.  I  A   BIT  O'  LOVE  73 

Voice  of  Trustaford.  Ah!    'Tes   a   brave   miine 
for  th'  poor  old  curate ! 

Voice.  "My  'eart  'E  lighted  not!" 

Trustaford's  laugh,  and  the  rattling,  fainter 
and  fainter,  of  wheels.  A  spasm  seizes  on 
Stila-NGWay's  face,  as  he  stands  there  by  the 
open  door,  his  hand  grips  his  throat;  he 
looks  from  side  to  side,  as  if  seeking  a  way 
of  escape. 


CURTAIN. 


SCENE  II 

The  BuRLACOMBEs'  high  and  nearly  empty  barn.  A 
lantern  is  hung  by  a  rope  that  lifts  the  bales  of 
straw y  to  a  long  ladder  leaning  against  a  rafter. 
This  gives  all  the  light  there  is,  save  for  a  slender 
track  of  moonlight,  slanting  in  from  the  end,  ivhere 
the  two  great  doors  are  not  quite  closed.  On  a  rude 
bench  in  front  of  a  feiv  remaining,  stacked,  square- 
cut  bundles  of  last  years  hay,  sits  Tibby  Jarl.\xd, 
a  bit  of  apple  in  her  mouth,  sleepily  beating  on  a 
tambourine.  W'ith  stockinged  feet  Gk\dys,  Ivy, 
Connie,  and  Mercy,  Tim  Clyst,  and  Bobbie 


74  A   BIT  0'   LOVE  act  hi 

JARL.VXD,  a  boy  of  fifteen,  are  dancing  a  truncated 
''Figure  of  Eight";  and  their  shadoics  are  danc- 
ing alongside  on  the  iralls.  Shoes  aiid  some  apples 
hare  been  thrown  dou-n  close  to  the  side  door  through 
which  they  hare  come  in.  Sow  and  then  Ivr,  the 
smallest  and  best  of  the  dancers,  ejaculates  words 
of  direction,  and  one  of  the  youths  grunts  or 
breathes  loudly  out  of  the  co?ifusion  of  his  mind. 
Save  for  this  arid  the  dumb  beat  and  jingle  of  the 
sleepy  tarnbourine,  there  is  no  sound.  The  dance 
comes  to  its  end,  but  the  drowsy  Tibby  goes  on 
beating. 
Mercy.  That'll  dli,  Tibby;  we're  finished.  Ate 
\i.ire  apple.  [The  stolid  Tibby  eats  her  apple. 

Clyst.  [In  his  teasing,  excitable  voice]  Yli  maids 
don't  dance  'alf's  well  as  us  du.  Bobbie  'e's  a  great 
dancer.  'E  dance  vine.  I'm  a  glide  dancer,  meself. 
Gi-\DYS.  A'n't  yii  conceited  just.^ 
Clyst.  Aw  !  Ah  I  Yii'll  give  me  kiss  for  that^ 
[He  chases,  but  cannot  catch  that  slippery  white  figure] 
Can't  she  glimmer! 

Mercy.  Gladys  I     Up  ladder  I 

Clyst.  Yli  go  up  ladder;   I'll  catch  'ee  then.     Xaw, 

yli  maids,  don't  yli  give  her  succour.     That's  not  vair. 

[Catching  hold  of  ^Mercy.  2rho  gives  a  little  squeal. 

Connie.  Mercy,   don't  I     ^Mrs.   Burlacombe'll  hear. 

Ivy.  go  an'  peek. 

[I\'Y  goes  to  the  side  door  and  peers  through. 

Clyst.  [Aba?idoning  the   chase  arid  picking   up  an 

apple — they    all    have    the   joyous    irresponsibility    that 


sc.  II  A   BIT  O'    LOVE  75 

attends  forbidden  doings]  Ya-as,  this  is  a  glide  apple. 

Luke  at  Tibby ! 

TiBBY,  overcome  by  drowsiness,  has  fallen 
back  into  the  hny,  asleep.  Gladys,  leaning 
against  the  hay  breaks  into  humming: 

"There  cam'  three  diikes  a-ridin',  a-ridin',  a-ridin'. 
There  cam'  three  diikes  a  ridin' 
With  a  ransy- tansy  tay!" 

Clyst.  Us  'as  got  on  vine;  us'll  get  prize  for  our 
dancin'. 

CoNTs'iE.  There  won't  be  no  prize  if  Mr.  Strangway 
goes  away.  'Tes  funny  'twas  Mrs.  Strangway  started 
us. 

I^T.  [From  the  door]  'Twas  wicked  to  hiss  him. 

[A  moment's  hiLsh. 

Clyst.  'Twasn't  I. 

Bobbie.  I  never  did. 

Gl-\dys.  Oh !  Bobbie,  yii  did !  Yli  blew  in  my 
ear. 

Clyst.  'Twas  the  praaper  old  wind  in  the  trees. 
Did  make  a  brave  noise,  zurely. 

Mercy.  'E  shuld'n'  'a  let  my  skylark  go. 

Clyst.  [Out  of  sheer  contradictoriness]  Ya-as,  'e 
shiide,  then.  AMiat  dli  yii  want  with  th'  birds  of  the 
air.'     They'm  no  glide  to  yii. 

I\^.  [Mournfully]  And  now  he's  goin'  away. 

Clyst.  Ya-as;  'tes  a  pity.  He's  the  best  man  I 
ever  seen  since  I  was  comin'  from  my  mother.  He's 
a  glide  man.     He'm  got  a  zad  face,  sure  enough,  though. 


76  A   BIT  O'   LOVE  act  hi 

Ivy.  Glide  folk  always  'ave  zad  faces. 

Clyst.  I  knii  a  glide  man — 'e  sold  pigs — very  glide 
man:  'e  'ad  a  blidiful  bright  vace  like  the  miine. 
[Touching  his  stomach]  I  was  sad,  meself,  once.  'Twas 
a  funny  scrabblin'-like  feelin'. 

Gladys.  If  'e  go  away,  whli's  goin'  to  finish  us  for 
confirmation  ? 

Connie.  The  Rector  and  the  old  grey  mare. 

Mercy.  I  don'  want  no  more  finishin';  I'm  con- 
firmed enough. 

Clyst.  Ya-as;   yu'm  a  blity. 

Gladys.  Suppose  we  all  went  an'  asked  'im  not 
to  go? 

Ivy.  'Twouldn't  be  no  glide. 

Connie.  Where's  'e  goin'  ? 

Mercy.  He'll  go  to  London,  of  course. 

Ivy.  He's  so  gentle;  I  think  'e'U  go  to  an  island, 
where  there's  nothin'  but  birds  and  beasts  and  flowers. 

Clyst.  Aye  !    He'm  awful  fond  o'  the  dumb  things. 

Ivy.  They're  kind  and  peaceful;   that's  why. 

Clyst.  Aw!  Yli  see  tii  praaper  old  tom  cats; 
they'm  not  tli  peaceful,  after  that,  nor  kind 
naighther. 

Bobbie.  [Surprisingly]  If  'e's  sad,  per'aps  'e'll  go 
to  'Eaven. 

Ivy.  Oh !  not  yet,  Bobbie.     He's  tli  young. 

Clyst.  [Following  his  own  thoughts]  Ya-as.  'Tes 
a  funny  place,  tli,  nowadays,  judgin'  from  the 
papers. 

Gladys.  Wonder  if  there's  dancin'  in  'Eaven? 


sc.  II  A  BIT  O'   LOVE  77 

Ivy.  There's  beasts,  and  flowers,  and  waters,  and 
trees — 'e  told  us. 

Clyst.  Naw !  There's  no  dumb  things  in  'Eaven. 
Jim  Bere  'e  says  there  is !  'E  thinks  'is  old  cat's 
there. 

Ivy.  Yes.  [Dreamily]  There's  stars,  an'  owls,  an'  a 
man  playin'  on  the  flute.  Where  'tes  glide,  there 
must  be  miisic. 

Clyst.  Old  brass  band,  shuldn'  wonder,  like  th' 
Salvation  Army. 

Ivy.  [Putting  up  her  hands  to  an  imaginary  pipe] 
No;  'tis  a  boy  that  goes  so;  an'  all  the  dumb  things 
an'  all  the  people  goo  after  'im — like  this. 

She  marches  slowly,  playing  her  imaginary 
pipe,  and  one  by  one  they  all  fall  in  behind 
her,  padding  round  the  barn  in  their  stock- 
inged feet.  Passing  the  big  doors.  Ivy  throws 
them  open. 
An'  'tes  all  like  that  in  'Eaven. 

She  stands  there  gazing  out,  still  playing  on 
her  imaginary  pipe.     And  they  all  stand  a 
inoment  silent,  staring  into  the  moonlight. 
Clyst.  'Tes  a  glory -be  full  miine  to-night  1 
Ivy.  a  goldie-cup — a  big  one.     An'  millions  o'  little 
goldie-cups  on  the  floor  of  'Eaven. 

Mercy.  Oh!  Bother 'Eaven!  Let's  dance  "Clap- 
perclaws" !    Wake  up,  Tibby ! 

Gl-\dys.  Clapperclaws,  clapperclaws !  Come  on, 
Bobbie — make  circle  ! 

Clyst.  Clapperclaws !    I  dance  that  one  fine. 


78  A   BIT  O'   LOVE  act  hi 

Ivy.  [Taking  the  tambourine]  See,  Tibby;    like  this. 
She  hums  and  beats  gently,  then  restores  the 
tambourine  to  the  sleepy  Tibby,  who,  wak- 
ing,  has   placed   a   piece   of  apple   in   her 
mouth. 

Connie.  'Tes  awful  difficult,  this  one. 
Ivy.  [Illustrating]  No;  yii  just  jump,  an'  clap  yiire 
*ands.     Lovely,  lovely! 

Clyst.  Like  ringin'  bells !     Come  ahn  ! 

Tibby  begins  her  droicsy  beating.  Ivy  hums 
the  tune;  they  dance,  and  their  shadows 
dance  again  upon  the  walls.  When  she  has 
beaten  but  a  few  moments  on  the  tambourine, 
Tibby  is  overcome  once  more  by  sleep  and 
falls  back  again  into  her  nest  of  hay,  with 
her  little  shoed  feet  just  visible  over  the  edge 
of  the  bench.  Ivy  catches  up  the  tambourine, 
and  to  her  beating  and  humming  the  dancers 
dance  on. 

Suddenly  Gl,\dys  stops  like  a  wild  animal 
surprised,  and  cranes  her  neck  toicards  the 
side  door. 

Connie.  [Whispering]  What  is  it? 
Gladys.  [Whispering]  I     hear — some     one — comin' 
across  the  yard. 

She  leads  a  noiseless  scamper  towards  the  shoes. 
Bobbie  Jarl.\nd  shins  up  the  ladder  and 
seizes  the  lantern.  Ivy  drops  the  tambourine. 
They  all  fly  to  the  big  doors,  and  vanish  into 


ec.  II  A   BIT  O'   LO\TS  79 

the  moonlight,  puUing  the  doors  nearly  to 
again  after  them. 

There  is  the  sound  of  scrabbling  at  the  latch 
of  the  side  door,  and  Strangway  comes  into 
the  nearly  dark  barn.  Out  in  the  night 
the  owl  is  still  hooting.  He  closes  the  door, 
and  that  sound  is  lost.  Like  a  man  walk- 
ing in  his  sleep,  he  goes  up  to  the  ladder, 
takes  the  rope  in  his  hand,  and  makes  a 
noose.  He  can  be  Jieard  breathing,  and  in 
the  darkness  the  motiojis  of  his  hands  are 
dimly  seen,  freeing  his  throat  and  putting 
the  noose  round  his  neck.  He  stands  sway- 
ing to  and  fro  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder;  then, 
with  a  sigh,  sets  his  foot  on  it  to  mount. 
One  of  the  big  doors  creaks  arid  opens  in 
the  wind,  letting  in  a  broad  path  of  moon- 
light. 

Strangway  stops;  freeing  his  neck  from  the 
noose,  he  walks  quickly  up  the  track  of 
moonlight,  whitened  from  head  to  foot,  to 
close  the  doors. 

The  sound  of  his  boots  on  the  bare  floor  has 
awakened  Tibby  Jarland.  Struggling 
Old  of  her  hay  nest  she  stands  staring  at  his 
whitened  figure,  and  bursts  suddenly  into 
a  icail. 

Tibby.     0-oh !     Mercy  I     ^Miere     are     yii  ?     I'm 
frightened  I     I'm  frightened  !    O-oooo  ! 


80  A   BIT   O'   LOVE  act  m 

Strangway.  [Turning — startled]  Who's  that?    WTio 
is  it? 

TiBBY.  0-oh !    A  ghosty !    Oo-ooo ! 
Strangway.  [Going  to  her  quickly]  It's  me,  Tibby 
— Tib — only  me! 

Tibby.  I  see'd  a  ghosty. 

Strangway.  [Taking  her  up]  No,  no,  my  bird,  you 
didn't !     It  was  me. 

Tibby.  [Burying  her  face  against  him]  I'm  frighted. 
It  was  a  big  one.  [She  gives  tongue  again]  0-o-oh ! 

Strangway.  There,   there !    It's   nothing   but  me. 
Look! 

Tibby.  No.  [She  peeps  out  all  the  same. 

Str.\ngway.  See !     It's  the  moonhght  made  me  all 
white.     See  !     You're  a  brave  girl  now  ? 
Tibby.  [Cautiously]  I  want  my  apple. 

She  points  towards  her  nest.     Strangway  car- 
ries her  there,  picks  up  an  apple,  and  gives 
it  her.     Tibby  takes  a  bite. 
Tibby.  I  want  my  tambouline. 
Strangway.  [Giving  her  the  tambouriney  and  carry- 
ing her  back  into  the  track  of  moonlight]  Now  we're 
both  ghosties  !     Isn't  it  funny  ? 
Tibby.  [Doubtfully]  Yes. 

Strangway.  See!    The    moon's    laughing    at    us! 
See  ?     Laugh  then  ! 

Tibby,  tambourine  in  one  hand  and  apple  in 
the  other,  smiles  stolidly.  He  sets  her  doirn 
on  the  ladder,  and  stands,  holding  her  level 
with  him. 


sc.  II  A  BIT  O'   LOVE  81 

TiBBY.  [Solemnly]  I'se  still  frightened. 

Strangway.  No!  Full  moon,  Tibby!  Shall  we 
wish  for  it? 

Tibby.  Full  miine. 

Strangway.  Moon !  We're  wishing  for  you.  Moon, 
moon ! 

Tibby.  Mline,  we're  wishin'  for  yii ! 

Strangway.  ^^^lat  do  you  wish  it  to  be? 

Tibby.  Bright  new  shillin' ! 

Straxgw^ay.  a  face. 

Tibby.  Shillin',  a  shillin' ! 

Strangw^ay.  [Taking  out  a  shilling  and  spinning  it  so 
that  it  falls  into  her  pinafore]  See !  Your  wish  comes 
true. 

Tibby.  Oh!  [Putting  the  shilling  in  her  mouth] 
Miine 's  still  there  ! 

Strangway.  Wish  for  me,  Tibby ! 

Tibby.  Miine,  I'm  wishin'  for  yii ! 

Stil\ngway.  Not  yet ! 

Tibby.  Shall  I  shake  my  tambouline? 

Strangway.  Yes,  shake  your  tambouline. 

Tibby.  [Shaking  her  tambourine]  Miine,  I'm  shakin' 
at  yii. 

Strangway  lays  his  hand  suddenly  on  the 
rope,  and  swings  it  up  on  to  the  beam, 

Tibby.  \Miat  d'yu  dU  that  for  ? 

Strangway.  To  put  it  out  of  reach.     It's  better 

Tibby.  Why  is  it  better?  [She  stares  up  at  him. 

Strangway.  Come  along,  Tibby  I  [He  carries  her  to 


82  A  BIT  O'   LOVE  act  hi 

the   big   doors,   and  sets   her  doivn]  See !    All   asleep ! 
The  birds,  and  the  fields,  and  the  moon ! 

TiBBY.  Miine,  miine,  we're  wishing  for  yli ! 

Strangway.  Send  her  your  love,  and  say  good- 
night. 

TiBBY.  [Blowing  a  kiss]  Good-night,  miine ! 

From  the  barn  roof  a  little  white  dove's  feather 
comes  floating  doum  in  the  wind.  Tibby 
follows  it  with  her  hand,  catches  it,  and  holds 
it  up  to  him. 

Tibby.  [Chuckling]  Liike.  The  mline's  sent  a  bit 
o'  love! 

Strangway.  [Taking  the  feather]  Thank  you,  Tibby  ! 
I  want  that  bit  o'  love.  [Very  faint,  comes  the  sound 
of  music]  Listen ! 

Tibby.  It's  Miss  "Willis,  playin'  on  the  pianny ! 

Strangway.  No;  it's  Love;  walking  and  talking 
in  the  world. 

Tibby.  [Dubiously]  Is  it.^ 

Strangway.  [Pointing]  See !  Everything  coming 
out  to  listen!  See  them,  Tibby!  All  the  little 
things  with  pointed  ears,  children,  and  birds,  and 
flowers,  and  bunnies;  and  the  bright  rocks,  and — 
men!  Hear  their  hearts  beating!  And  the  wind 
listening ! 

Tibby.  I  can't  hear — nor  I  can't  see  ! 

Strangway.  Beyond —  [To  himself]  They  are — 
they  must  be;  I  swear  they  are!  [Then,  catching 
sight  of  Tibby's  amazed  eyes]  And  now  say  good-bye 
to  me. 


sc.  II  A   BIT  O'   LOVE  88 

TiBBY.  Where  yii  goin'  ? 
Strangway.  I  don't  know,  Tibby. 
Voice  of  Mercy.  [Distant     and     cautious]  Tibby ! 
Tibby  !     ^^^le^e  are  yii  ? 

Str-AA'gway.  Mercy  calling;   run  to  her! 

Tibby  starts  off,  turns  back  and  lifts  her  face. 

He  bends  to  kiss  her,  and  flinging  her  artns 

round  his  neck,  she  gives  him  a  good  hug. 

Then,  knuckling  the  sleep  out  of  her  eyes, 

she  runs. 
Strangway    stands,    uncertmn.     There   is    a 

sound  of  heavy  footsteps;   a  man  clears  his 

throat,  close  by. 

Strangway.  "\Mio's  that? 

Crenier.  Jack  Cremer.  [The  big  man  s  figure  appears 
out  of  the  shadow  of  the  barn]  That  yii,  zurr  ? 

Strangway.  Yes,  Jack.     How  goes  it.' 

Crez^ier.  'Tes  empty,  zurr.  But  I'll  get  on 
some'ow. 

Stil^jntgway.  You  put  me  to  shame. 

Crelier.  No,  zurr.  I'd  be  killin'  meself,  if  I  didn' 
feel  I  must  stick  it,  like  yii  zaid. 

They  stand  gazing  at  each  other  in  the  moon- 
light. 

Strangway.  [Very  low]  I  honour  you. 

Cremer.  "\Miat's  that?  [Then,  as  Strangway  does 
not  answer]  I'll  just  be  walkin' — I  won'  be  goin'  'ome 
to-night.     'Tes  the  full  miine — lucky. 

Strangway.  [Suddenly]  Wait  for  me  at  the  cross- 


S4  A   BIT  O'   LOVE  act  hi 

roads,  Jack.     I'll  come  with  you.     Will  you  have  me, 
brother  ? 

Creivier.  Sure! 
Strangway.  Wait,  then. 
Cremer.  Aye,  zurr. 

With  his  heavy  tread  Creimer  passes  on.    And 

Strangway  leans  against  the  lintel  of  the 

door,   looking  at  the  moon,  that,  quite  fidl 

and  golden,  hangs  not  far  above  the  straight 

horizon,  where  the  trees  stand  small,  in  a 

row. 

Strangway.  [Lifting    his    hand    in    the    gesture    of 

prayer]  God,  of  the  moon  and  the  sun;    of  joy  and 

beauty,  of  loneliness  and  sorrow — give  me  strength  to 

go  on,  till  I  love  every  living  thing ! 

He  moves  away ,  following  Jack  Cremer.  The 
full  moon  shines;  the  owl  hoots;  and  some 
one  is  shaking  Tibby's  tambourine. 


THE  END 


THE  FOUNDATIONS 

(AN  EXTRAVAGANT  PLAY) 


CAST  OF  THE  ORIGINAL  PRODUCTION 


Royalty  Theatre,  June,  1917 


Lord  William  Dromond y,  M.P. 

PouLDER  {his  butler) 

James  {first  footman) 

Henry  {second  footman) 

TnoiL^  {third  footman) 

Charles  (fourth  footman) 

The  Press  . 

Lemmy  (a  plumber) 

Lady  William  Dromondy 

Miss  Stokes 

Old  Mrs.  Lemmy 

Little  Anne 

Little  Aida 


Mr.  Dawson  Milward 
Mr.  Sidney  Paxton 
Mr.  Stephen  T.  Ewart 
Mr.  Allan  Jeayes 
^ii.  William  Lawrence 
Mr.  Robert  Lawlor 
Mr.  La-v^Tence  Hanray 
Mr.  Dennis  Eadie 
Miss  Lydia  Bilbrooke 
Miss  Gertrude  Sterroll 
Miss  Esme  Hubbard 
Miss  Babs  Farren 
Miss  Dinka  Starace 


PERSONS  OF  THE  PLAY 

Lord  William  Dhomondt,  M.P. 
Lady  Willl^j^  Dbomoxdt 
Little  Axxe 

Mis3  Stokes 

Mr.  Fouldeb 

James 

He>-ry 

Thomas 

Charles 

The  Press 

LZMMY 

Old  Mrs.  Lemmt 

Little  Aida 

The  Duke  op  Exeter 


Some  Anti-Sweatees;    Some  Sweated  Woe 
Crowd 


and  a 


SCENES 

SCENE  I.     The  cellar  at  Lord  'William  Dromondt's  in  Park 
Lane. 

SCENE  II.     The  room  of  old  Mrs.  Lemmy  in  Bethnal  Green. 

SCENE  III.    Ante-room  of  the  hall  at  Lord  William  Dro- 
mondt's. 

The  Action  'passes  continuously  between   8   and   10.30  of   a 
summer  evening,  some  years  after  the  Great  War. 


ACT  I 

Lord  William  Dromondy's  mansion  in  Park  Lane. 
Eight  o'clock  of  the  evening.  Little  Axne 
Dromoxdy  arid  the  large  footmaUy  James,  gaunt 
and  grim,  discovered  in  the  wine  cellar »  by  light 
of  gas.     J.\2kiES,  in  plush  breeches,  is  selecting  wine, 

L.  AxNE.  James,  are  j'ou  really  James? 

J-^iES.  No,  my  proper  name's  John. 

L.  Anne.  Oh!  [A  pause]  And  is  Charles's  an  im- 
proper name  too  ? 

J.AMES.  His  proper  name's  Mark. 

L.  Anne.  Then  is  Thomas  Matthew  ? 

James.  Miss  Anne,  stand  clear  o'  that  bin.  You'll 
put  your  foot  through  one  o'  those  'ock  bottles. 

L.  An-n-e.  Xo,  but  James — Henry  might  be  Luke, 
really  ? 

J.AMES.  Now  shut  it.  Miss  Anne ! 

L.  An-n-e.  Who  gave  you  those  names.'*  Not  your 
godfathers  and  godmothers? 

James.  Poulder.  Butlers  think  they're  the  Al- 
mighty. [Gloomily]  But  his  name's  Bartholomew. 

L.  An-n-e.  Bartholomew  Poulder  ?     It's  rather  jolly. 

James.  It's  hidjeous. 

L.  AN^^-E.  ^^'hich  do  you  like  to  be  called— John  or 
James  ? 

CopyrigfU,  1920,  by  Ckarlet  Scribner'a  Son$ 
1 


2  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  i 

James.  I  don't  give  a  darn. 

L.  Anne.  What  is  a  darn? 

James.  Tain't  in  the  dictionary. 

L.  Anne.  Do  you  like  my  name.^  Anne  Dro- 
mondy  ?     It's  old,  you  know.     But  it's  funny,  isn't  it  "^ 

Ja]vies.  [Indifferently]  It'll  pass. 

L.  Anne.  How  many  bottles  have  you  got  to  pick 
out.? 

James.  Thirty-four. 

L.  Anne.  Are  they  all  for  the  dinner,  or  for  the 
people  who  come  in  to  the  Anti-Sweating  Meeting 
afterwards .? 

James.  All  for  the  dinner.  They  give  the  Sweated 
— tea. 

L.  Anne.  All  for  the  dinner.?  They'll  drink  too 
much,  won't  they .? 

James.  We've  got  to  be  on  the  safe  side. 
.  L.  Anne.  Will  it  be  safer  if  they  drink  too  much? 
James  pauses  in  the  act  of  dusting  a  bottle  to 
look  at  her,  as  if^sus-pecting  irony. 
[Sniffing]  Isn't  the  smell  delicious  here — like  the  taste 
of  cherries  when  they've  gone  bad — [She  sniffs  again] 
and  mushrooms;  and  boot  blacking 

James.  That's  the  escape  of  gas. 

L.  Anne.  Has  the  plumber's  man  been? 

James.  Yes. 

L.  Anne.  Which  one? 

James.  Little  blighter  I've  never  seen  before. 

L.  Anne.  'What  is  a  little  blighter?    Can  /  see? 

James.  He's  just  gone. 


ACT  I  THE  FOUNDATIONS  3 

L.  Anne.  [Straying]  Oh !  .  .  .  James,  are  these 
really  the  foundations  ? 

James.  You  might  'arf  say  so.  There's  a  lot  under 
a  woppin'  big  house  like  this;  you  can't  hardly  get  to 
the  bottom  of  it. 

L.  AxxE.  Everything's  built  on  something,  isn't  it.' 
And  what's  that  built  on  ? 

James.  Ask  another. 

L.  Anne.  If  you  wanted  to  blow  it  up,  though, 
you'd  have  to  begin  from  here,  wouldn't  you.' 

James.  WTio'd  want  to  blow  it  up  ? 

L.  Aknt:.  It  ivould  make  a  mess  in  Park  Lane. 

James.  I've  seen  a  lot  bigger  messes  than  this'd 
make,  out  in  the  war. 

L.  AxxE.  Oh !  but  that's  years  ago !  Was  it  like 
this  in  the  trenches,  James  ? 

James.  [Grimly]  Ah !  'Cept  that  you  couldn't  lay 
your  'and  on  a  bottle  o'  port  when  j'ou  wanted  one. 

L.  Anne.  Do  you,  when  you  want  it,  here? 

J-OIES.  [On  guard]  I  only  suggest  it's  possible. 

L.  Anne.  Perhaps  Poulder  does. 

J-\2^iES.  [Icily]  I  say  nothin'  about  that. 

L.  Anne.  Oh !    Do  say  something ! 

James.  I'm  ashamed  of  you,  Miss  Anne,  pumpin'  me ! 

L.  Anne.  [Reproachfully]  I'm  not  pumpin' !  I  only 
want  to  make  Poulder  jump  when  I  ask  him. 

J-\iiES.  [Gri?mi7ig]  Try  it  on  your  own  responsibility, 
then;  don't  bring  me  in  ! 

L.  Ants'E.  [Switching  off]  James,  do  you  think  there's 
going  to  be  a  bloody  revolution  ? 


4  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  i 

James.  [Shocked]  I  shouldn't  use  that  word,  at  your 
age. 

L.  AxNE.  "\Miy  not.^  Daddy  used  it  this  morning 
to  Mother.  [Imitating]  "The  coimtry's  in  an  a-^^iil 
state,  darling;  there's  going  to  be  a  bloody  revolution, 
and  we  shall  all  be  blown  sky-high."  Do  you  like 
Daddy? 

James.  [Taken  aback]  Like  Lord  William?  What 
do  you  think?  We  chaps  would  ha'  done  anything 
for  him  out  there  in  the  war. 

L.  Anne.  He  never  says  that — he  always  says  he'd 
have  done  anything  for  you ! 

James.  Well — that's  the  same  thing. 

L.  Anne.  It  isn't — it's  the  opposite.  "What  is  class 
hatred,  James? 

James.  [Wisely]  Ah !  A  lot  o'  people  thought  when 
the  war  was  over  there'd  be  no  more  o'  that.  [He  snig- 
gers] Used  to  amuse  me  to  read  in  the  papers  about 
the  wonderful  unitj'  that  was  comin'.  I  could  ha' 
told  'em  different. 

L.  Anne.  Why  should  people  hate?  /  like  every- 
body. 

James.  You  know  such  a  lot  o'  people,  don't  you? 

L.  Anne.  Well,  Daddy  likes  everybody,  and  Mother 
likes  everybody,  except  the  people  wdio  don't  like 
Daddy.  I  bar  Miss  Stokes,  of  course;  but  then,  who 
wouldn't  ? 

James.  [With  a  touch  of  philosophy]  That's  right — 
w^e  all  bars  them  that  tries  to  get  something  out  of  us. 

L.  Anne.  Who  do  you  bar,  James  ? 


ACT  I  THE   FOUNDATIONS  5 

J.\^iES.  Well — [Enjoying  the  luxury  of  thought] — 
Speaking  generally,  I  bar  everybody  that  looks  down 
their  noses  at  me.  Out  there  in  the  trenches,  there'd 
come  a  shell,  and  orf'd  go  some  officer's  head,  an'  I'd 
think:  That  might  ha'  been  me — we're  all  equal  in  the 
sight  o'  the  stars.  But  when  I  got  home  agam  among 
the  torfs,  I  says  to  meself:  Out  there,  ye  know,  t/ou 
filled  a  hole  as  well  as  me;  but  here  you've  put  it  on 
again,  with  mufti. 

L.  AxN'E.  James,  are  your  breeches  made  of  mufti  ? 

J.AJMES.  [Contemplating  hi^  legs  with  a  certain  con- 
tempt] Ah!  Footmen  were  to  ha'  been  off;  but  Lord 
William  was  scared  we  wouldn't  get  jobs  in  the  rush. 
We're  on  his  conscience,  and  it's  on  my  conscience 
that  I've  been  on  his  long  enough — so,  now  I've  saved 
a  bit,  I'm  goin'  to  take  meself  orf  it. 

L.  Anne.  Oh !    Are  you  going  ?     Where  ? 

James.  [Asse7nbling  tfie  last  bottles]  Out  o'  Blighty! 

L.  Anne.  Is  a  little  blighter  a  little  Englishman  ? 

James.  [Embarrassed]  Well — 'e  can  be. 

L.  Anne.  [Musing]  James — we're  quite  safe  down 
here,  aren't  we,  in  a  revolution?  Only,  we  wouldn't 
have  fun.  Which  would  you  rather — be  safe,  or  have 
fun? 

J.oies.  [Grimly]  Well,  I  had  my  bit  o'  fun  in  the  war. 

L.  Anne.  I  like  fun  that  happens  when  you're  not 
looking. 

JAiiES.  Do  you?    You'd  ha'  been  just  suited. 

L.  Anne.  James,  is  there  a  future  life  ?  Miss  Stokes 
says  so. 


6  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  i 

James.  It's  a  belief,  In  the  middle  classes. 

L.  Anne.  What  are  the  middle  classes  ? 

James.  Anything  from  two  'undred  a  year  to  super- 
tax. 

L.  Anne.  Mother  says  they're  terrible.  Is  Miss 
Stokes  middle  class  ? 

Jajvies.  Yes. 

L.  Anne.  Then  I  expect  they  are  terrible.  She's 
awfully  virtuous,  though,  isn't  she .' 

James.  'Tisn't  so  much  the  bein'  virtuouS;  as  the 
lookin'  it,  that's  awful. 

L.  Anne.  Are  all  the  middle  classes  virtuous  ?  Is 
Poulder  ? 

James.  [Dubiously]  Well.  .  .  .     Ask  him ! 

L.  Anne.  Yes,  I  will.     Look ! 

From  an  empty  bin  on  the  ground  level  she 
picks  up  a  lighted  taper,  burnt  abnost  to 
the  end. 

JAifES.  [Contemplating  it]  Careless ! 

L.  Anne.  Oh !  And  look !  [She  poinis  to  a  rounded 
metal  object  lying  in  the  bin,  close  to  where  the  taper 
icas]  It's  a  bomb  ! 

She  is  about  to  pick  it  up  when  James  takes 
her  by  the  waist  and  puis  her  aside. 

James.  [Sternly]  You  stand  back  there!  I  don't 
like  the  look  o'  that ! 

L.  Anne.  [With  intense  interest]  Is  it  really  a  bomb  ? 
^Vhat  fun ! 

James.  Go  and  fetch  Poulder  while  I  keep  an  eye 
on  it. 


ACT  I 


THE  FOUNDATIONS 


L.  Anne.  [On  tiptoe  of  excitement]  If  only  I  can 
make  him  jump !  Oh,  James !  we  needn't  put  the 
light  out,  need  we  ? 

James.  No.  Clear  off  and  get  hun,  and  don't  you 
come  back. 

L.  Anxe.  Oh !  but  I  must !    I  found  it ! 
Jaaies.  Cut  along. 
L.  Anne.  Shall  we  bring  a  bucket  ? 
jAiiES.  Yes.  [Anne  flies  off. 

[Gazing  at  the  object]  Near  go!  Thought  I'd  seen 
enough  o'  them  to  last  my  time.  That  little  gas 
blighter !  He  looked  a  rum  'un,  too — one  o'  these  'ere 
Bolshies. 

In  the  presence  of  this  grim  object  the  liahits 

of  the  past  are  too  much  for  him.     He  sits  on 

the  ground,  leaning  against  one  of  the  bottle 

baskets,  keeping  his  eyes  on  the  bomb,  his 

large,  lean,  gorgeous  body  spread,  one  elbow 

on  his  plush  knee.     Taking  out  an  empty 

pipe,  he  places  it  mechanically,  bowl  down, 

between  his  lips.     There  enter,  behind  him, 

as  from  a  communication  trench,  Poulder, 

in  swallow-tails,  with  Little  Anne  behind 

him. 

L.    Anne.    [Peering   round   him — ecstatic]    Hurrah! 

Not  gone  off  yet!    It  can't — can  it— while  James  is 

sitting  on  it? 

Poulder.  [Very  broad  and  stout,  with  square  shoul- 
ders, a  large  ruddy  face,  and  a  small  mouth]  No  noise. 
Miss.    James ! 


8  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  i 

James.  Hallo! 

PouLDER.  What's  all  this? 

J.\MES.  Bomb ! 

PouLDER.  Miss  Anne,  off  you  go,  and  don't  you 

L.  AxNE.   Come  back  again  !     I  know  !     [She  flies. 

James.  [Extending  his  hand  icUh  the  pipe  in  it]  See ! 

PouLDER.  [Severely]  You've  been  at  it  again  !  Look 
here,  you're  not  in  the  trenches  now.  Get  up  !  What 
are  your  breeches  goin'  to  be  like  ?  You  might  break 
a  bottle  any  moment ! 

J.oiES.  [Rising  with  a  jerJc  to  a  sort  of  "Attention!'''] 
Look  here,  you  starched  antiquity,  you  and  I  and  that 
bomb  are  here  in  the  sight  of  the  stars.  If  you  don't 
look  out  I'll  stamp  on  it  and  blow  us  all  to  glory! 
Drop  your  civilian  swank ! 

PouLDER.  [Seeing  red]  Ho!  Because  you  had  the 
privilege  of  fightin'  for  your  country,  you  still  think 
you  can  put  it  on,  do  you.^  Take  up  your  wine! 
'Pon  my  word,  you  fellers  have  got  no  nerve  left ! 

James  makes  a  sudden  swoop,  lifts  the  bomb 
and  poises  it  in  both  hands.  Poulder 
recoils  against  a  bin  and  gazes  at  the  object. 

jAiiES.  Put  up  your  hands ! 

Poulder.  I  defy  you  to  make  me  ridiculous. 

James.  [Fiercely]  Up  with  'em ! 

Poulder's  hands  go  up  in  an  uncordrollable 
spasm,  ivhich  he  subdues  almost  instantly, 
pulling  them  down  again. 

James.  Very  good.  [He  lowers  tlie  bomb. 

Poulder.  [Surprised]  I  never  lifted  'em. 

James.  You'd    have    made    a    first-class    Boche, 


ACT  I  THE  FOUNDATIONS  9 

Poulder.     Take  the  bomb  yourself;  you're  In  charge 
of  this  section. 

Poulder.  [Poviing]  It's  no  part  of  my  duty  to 
carry  menial  objects;  if  you're  afraid  of  it  I'll  send 
'Enry. 

James.  Afraid !    You  'Op  o'  me  thumb ! 

From  the  *^ communication  trench''  appears 
Little  Anne,  followed  by  a  thin,  sharp^ 
sallow-faced  man  of  thirty-five  or  so,  and 
another  Footman,  carrying  a  wine-cooler. 

L.  Anne.  I've  brought  the  bucket,  and  the  Press. 

Press.  [In  front  of  Poulder's  round  eyes  and  mouth] 
Ah,  major  domo,  I  was  just  taking  the  names  of  the 
Anti-Sweating  dinner.  [He  catches  sight  of  the  bomb 
in  James's  hand]  By  George!  What  A.l.  irony!  [He 
brings  out  a  note-book  and  writes]  "Highest  class  dining 
to  relieve  distress  of  lowest  class — bombed  by  same!'* 
Tippmg !  [He  rubs  his  hands]. 

Poulder.  [Drawing  himself  up]  Sir.''  This  is  pres- 
ent !     [He  indicates  Anne  with  the  flat  of  his  hand.] 

L.  Anne.  I  found  the  bomb. 

Press.  [Absorbed]  By  Jove!  This  is  a  piece  of 
luck !  [He  writes. 

Poulder.  [Observing  him]  This  won't  do — it  won't 
do  at  all ! 

Press.  [Writing — absorbed]  "Beginning  of  the  Brit- 
ish Revolution!" 

Poulder.  [To  James]  Put  it  in  the  cooler.  'Enry, 
'old  up  the  cooler.  Gently!  Miss  Anne,  get  be'ind 
the  Press. 

James.  [Grimly — holding  the  bomb  above  the  cooler]  It 


10  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  i 

won't  be  the  Press  that'll  stop  Miss  Anne  goin'  to 
'Eaven  if  one  o'  this  sort  goes  off.  Look  out!  I'm 
goin'  to  drop  it. 

All  recoil.     Henry  put^  the  cooler  down  and 
backs  away. 

L.  Anne.  [Dancing  forward]  Oh!  Let  me  see!  I 
missed  all  the  war,  you  know  ! 

James  lowers  the  bomb  into  the  cooler. 

PoULDER.  [Regaining  courage — to  The  Press,  who 
is  scribbling  in  his  note-book]  If  you  mention  this  before 
the  police  lay  their  hands  on  it,  it'll  be  contempt  o' 
Court. 

Press.  [Struck]  I  say,  major  domo,  don't  call  in 
the  police!  That's  the  last  resort.  Let  me  do  the 
Sherlocking  for  you.     Who's  been  down  here? 

L.  Anne.  The  plumber's  man  about  the  gas — a 
little  blighter  we'd  never  seen  before. 

Jaaies.  Lives  close  by,  in  Royal  Court  Mews — No.  3. 
I  had  a  word  with  him  before  he  came  down.  Lemmy 
his  name  is. 

Press.  "Lemmy!"  [Noting  the  address]  Right-o! 

L.  Anne.  Oh !    Do  let  me  come  \\4th  you ! 

PouLDER.  [Barring  the  way]  I've  got  to  lay  it  all 
before  Lord  William. 

Press.  Ah !    What's  he  like  ?  ;.-  /  ' 

PouLDER.  [With  dignity]  A  gentleman,  sir. 

Press.  Then  he  won't  want  the  police  in. 

PouLDER.  Nor  the  Press,  if  I  may  go  so  far  as  to 
say  so. 

Press.  One  to  you !    But  I  defy  you  to  keep  this 


ACT  I  THE  FOUNDATIONS  11 

from  the  Press,  major  dome.  This  is  the  most  sig- 
nificant thing  that  has  happened  in  our  time.  Guy 
Fawkes  is  nothing  to  it.  The  foundations  of  Society 
reeling!    By  George,  it's  a  second  Bethlehem! 

[He  writes. 

PouLDER.  [To  James]  Take  up  your  wine  and  follow 
me.  'Enry,  bring  the  cooler.  Miss  Anne,  precede  us. 
[ro  The  Press]  You  defy  me?  Very  well;  Fm  goin' 
to  lock  you  up  here. 

Press.  [Uneasy]  I  say — this  is  medieval. 

[He  attempts  to  pass. 

PouiiDER.  [Barring  tlie  way]  Not  so!  James,  put 
him  up  in  that  empty  'ock  bin.  We  can't  have  dinner 
disturbed  in  any  way. 

James.  [Putting  his  hands  on  The  Press's  shoulders] 
Look  here — go  quiet !  I've  had  a  grudge  against  you 
yellow  newspaper  boys  ever  since  the  war — frothin' 
up  your  daily  hate,  an'  makin'  the  Huns  desperate. 
You  nearly  took  my  life  five  hundred  times  out  there. 
If  you  squeal,  I'm  goin'  to  take  yours  once — and  that'll 
be  enough. 

Press.  That's  awfully  unjust.     I'm  not  yellow ! 

James.  Well,  you  look  it.     Hup. 

Press.  Little  Lady  Anne,  haven't  you  any  authority 
with  these  feUows.^ 

L.  AxxE.  [Resisting  Poulder's  pressure]  I  won't 
go !    I  simply  must  see  James  put  him  up  ! 

Press.  Now,  I  warn  you  all  plainly — there'll  be  a 
leader  on  this. 

[He  tries  to  holt,  hut  is  seized  hy  James. 


12  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  i 

James.  [Ironically]  Ho! 

Press.  My  paper  has  the  biggest  Influence 


James.  That's  the  one!    Git  up  in  that  'ock  bin, 
and  mind  your  feet  among  the  claret. 

Press.  This  is  an  outrage  on  the  Press. 

James.  Then  it'll  wipe  out  one  by  the  Press  on  the 
Public — an'  leave  just  a  million  over !    Hup  ! 

PoxjLDER.  'Enry,  give  'im  an  'and. 

The  Press  mountSy  assisted  by  James  and 
Hentiy. 

L.  Anne.  [Ecstatic]  It's  lovely ! 

Poulder.  [NervoiLsly]  Mmd  the  '87 !    Mind ! 

James.  Mind  your  feet  in  Mr.  Poulder's  favourite 


wme 


A  Woman's  voice  is  heard^  as  from  the  depths 
of  a  cave,  calling  "Anne  !    Anne  /" 
L.  Anne.  [Aghast]  Miss  Stokes — I  must  hide ! 

She  gets  behind  Poulder.  The  three  Servants 
achieve  dignified  positions  in  front  of  the 
bins.  The  voice  comes  nearer.  The  Press 
sits  dangling  his  feet,  grinniTig.  Miss 
Stokes  appears.  She  is  a  woman  of  forty - 
Jive  and  terribly  good  manners.  Her  greyish 
hair  is  rolled  back  off  her  forehead.  She  is 
in  a  high  evening  dress,  and  in  the  dim  light 
radiates  a  startled  composure. 
Miss  S.  Poulder,  where  is  Miss  Anne  .^ 

[Anne  lays  hold  of  the  backs  of  his  legs. 
Poulder.  [Wincing]  I  am  not  in  a  position  to  in- 
form you,  Miss. 


ACT  I  THE  FOUNDATIONS  13 

!Miss  S.  They  told  me  she  was  down  here.  And 
what  is  all  this  about  a  bomb  ? 

PouLDER.  [Lifting  his  hand  in  a  calming  manner] 
The  crisis  is  past;  we  have  it  in  ice,  Miss.  'Enry,  show 
Miss  Stokes !  [Henry  indicates  the  cooler. 

Miss  S.  Good  gracious !    Does  Lord  William  know  ? 
PoxiLDER.  Not  at  present,  Miss. 
IVIiss  S.  But  he  ought  to,  at  once. 
PoULDER.  We  'ave  'ad  complications. 
Miss  S.  [Catching  sight  of  the  legs  of  The  Press] 
Dear  me !     "What  are  those  ? 

James.  [Gloomily]  The  complications. 

Miss  Stokes  puts  up  her  gl^isses  and  stares 
at  them. 
Press.  [Cheerfully]  Miss  Stokes,  would  you  kindly 
tell  Lord  William  I'm  here  from  the  Press,  and  would 
like  to  speak  to  him  ? 

Miss  S.  But — er — why  are  you  up  there? 
James.  'E  got  up  out  o'  remorse,  Miss. 
Miss  S.  ^Miat  do  you  mean,  James? 
Press.  [Warmly]  Miss  Stokes,  I  appeal  to  you.     Is 
it  fan-  to  attribute  responsibility  to  an  unsigned  jour- 
nalist for  what  he  has  to  say? 

James.  [Sepulchrdly]  Yes,  when  you've  got  'un  in 
a  nice  dark  place. 

I^Iiss  S.  James,  be  more  respectful!    We  owe  the 
Press  a  very  great  debt. 

James.  I'm  goin'  to  pay  it,  Miss. 

iMiss  S.  [At  a  loss]  Poulder,  this  is  really  most 

PouLDER.  I'm  bound  to  keep  the  Press  out  of  temp- 


14  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  i 

tation,  Miss,  till  I've  laid  it  all  before  Lord  William. 
'Enry,  take  up  the  cooler.  James,  watch  'im  till  we 
get  clear,  then  bring  on  the  rest  of  the  wine  and  lock 
up.     Now,  Miss. 

Miss  S.  But  where  is  Anne  ? 

Press.  Miss  Stokes,  as  a  lady ! 

Miss  S.  I  shall  go  and  fetch  Lord  William ! 

PouLDER.  We  will  all  go.  Miss. 

L.  Anne.  [Rushing  out  from  behind  his  legs]  No — me ! 

She  eludes  Miss  Stokes  and  vanishes,  folloiced 

by  that  distracted  but  still  icelUmannered  lady. 

Poulder.  [Looking  at  his  watch]  'Enry,  leave  the 
cooler,  and  take  up  the  wine;  tell  Thomas  to  lay  it 
out;  get  the  champagne  into  ice,  and  'ave  Charles 
'andy  in  the  'all  in  case  some  literary  bounder  comes 
punctual.  [Henry  takes  up  the  icine  and  goes. 

Press.  [Above  his  head]  I  say,  let  me  down.  This 
is  a  bit  undignified,  you  know.  My  paper's  a  great 
organ. 

Poulder.  [After  a  moment's  hesitation]  Well — take 
'im  down,  James;  he'll  do  some  mischief  among  the 
bottles. 

James.  'Op  off  your  base,  and  trust  to  me. 

The  Press  slides  off  the  bins  edge,  is  received 
by  James,  and  not  landed  gently. 

Poulder.  [Contemplating  him]  The  mcident's  closed; 
no  ill-feeling,  I  hope.^ 

Press.  No-o. 

Poulder.  That's  right.  [Clearing  his  throat]  Wliile 
we're  waitin'  for  Lord  William — if  you're  interested  in 


ACT  I  THE  FOUNDATIONS  15 

wine — [Philosophically]  you  can  read  the  history  of  the 
times  in  this  cellar.  Take  'ock.  [He  points  to  a  bin] 
Not  a  bottle  gone.  German  product,  of  course.  Now, 
that  'ock  is  'avin'  the  time  of  its  life — maturin'  grandly; 
got  a  wonderful  chance.  About  the  time  we're  bringin' 
ourselves  to  drink  it,  we  shall  be  havin'  the  next  great 
war.  With  luck  that  'ock  may  lie  there  another  quar- 
ter of  a  century,  and  a  sweet  pretty  wme  it'll  be.  I 
only  hope  I  may  be  here  to  drink  it.  Ah !  [He  shakes 
h  is  h€ad\—hMi  look  at  claret !  Times  are  hard  on  claret. 
"We're  givin'  it  an  awful  doin'.  Now,  there's  a  Ponty 
Canny  [He  points  to  a  bin] — if  we  weren't  so  'opelessly 
allied  with  France,  that  ^iue  would  have  a  reasonable 
future.  As  it  is — none !  We  drink  it  up  and  up;  not 
more  than  sixty  dozen  left.  And  where's  its  equal  to 
come  from  for  a  dinner  wine — ah!  I  ask  you.^  On 
the  other  hand,  port  is  steady;  made  in  a  Httle  country, 
all  but  the  cobwebs  and  the  old  boot  flavour;  guaran- 
teed by  the  British  Navy;  we  may  'ope  for  the  best 
with  port.     Do  you  drink  it  ? 

Press.  ^Mien  I  get  the  chance. 

PouLDER.  Ah!  [Clears  his  throat]  I've  often  wanted 
to  ask:  "\Miat  do  they  pay  you — if  it's  not  indelicate.? 
[The  Press  shrugs  his  shoulders. 
Can  you  do  it  at  the  money  ? 

[The  Press  shakes  his  head. 
Still — it's  an  easy  life !  I've  regretted  sometimes  that 
I  didn't  have  a  shot  at  it  myself;  mfluencm'  other 
people  without  disclosin'  your  identity — something 
very  attractive   about  that.  [Lowering  his  voice]  Be- 


I 


16  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  i 

tween  man  and  man,  now — what  do  you  think  of  the 
situation  of  the  country — these  processions  of  the  un- 
employed— the  Red  Flag  an'  the  Marsillaisy  in  the 
streets — all  this  talk  about  an  upheaval  ? 

Press.  Well,  speaking  as  a  Socialist 

PoLTLDER.  \/istounded\  Why,  I  thought  your  paper 
was  Tory ! 
Press.  So  it  is.    That's  nothmg ! 
PouLDER.  [Open-moiUhed]  Dear  me !  [Pointing  to  the 
bomb]  So  you  really  think  there's  something  in  this  ? 
Jaaies.  [Sepulchrally]  'Igh  explosive. 
Press.  [Taking  out  his  note-hook]  Too  much,  any- 
way, to  let  it  drop. 

[A  'pleasant  voice  calls  "Poulder  !  Hallo  /" 
PouLDER.  [Forming  a  trumpet  with  his   hand]  Me 
Lord! 

As  Lord  William  appears,  James,  overcome 

by  reminiscences,  salutes,  and  is  mechanically 

ansioered.    Lord   William   has    ''charm.'' 

His  hair  and  moustache  are  crisp  and  just 

beginning  to  grizzle.     His  hearing  is  free, 

easy,  and  only  faintly  armoured.     He  will 

go  far  to  meet  you  any  day.     He  is  in  full 

evening  dress. 

Lord  W.  [Cheerfully]  I  say,  Poulder,  what  have  you 

and  James  been  doing  to  the  Press?     Liberty  of  the 

Press — it  isn't  what  it  was,  but  there  is  a  limit.     Where 

is  he? 

He  turns  to  James  hetioeen  whom  and  himself 
there  is  still  the  freemasonry  of  the  trenches. 


ACT  I  THE  FOUNDATIONS  17 

J-A3JLES.  [Pointing  to  Poulder]  Be'ind  the  parapet, 
me  Lord. 

The  Press  moves  out  from  where  he  has  in- 
voluntarily been  screened  by  Poulder,  who 
looks   at   J.oiEs   severely.     Lord   WiLLiAii 
hides  a  smile. 
Press.  Very  glad  to  meet  you,  Lord  ^Yilliam.    My 
presence  down  here  is  quite  involuntary. 

Lord  W.  [With  a  charming  smih]  I  know.  The 
Press  has  to  put  its — er — to  go  to  the  bottom  of  every- 
thing.    AMiere's  this  bomb,  Poulder  ?    Ah ! 

[He  looks  into  the  wine  cooler. 
Press.  [Taking  out  his  note-book]  Could  I  have  a 
word   with   you   on   the   crisis,    before   dinner,   Lord 
WiUiam.^ 

Lord  W.  It's  time  you  and  James  were  up,  Poulder. 
[Indicating  the  cooler]  Look  after  this;  tell  Lady  "William 
I'll  be  there  in  a  minute. 
Poulder.  Very  good,  me  Lord. 

He  goes,  followed  by  Ja^ies  carrying  the  cooler. 

As  The  Press  turns  to  look  after  them.  Lord 

WiLLL\:vi  catches  sight  of  his  back. 

Lord  W.  I  must  apologise,  sir.     Can  I  brush  you  ? 

Press.  [Dusting  himself]  Thanks;  it's  only  behind. 

[He  opens  his  note-book]  Now,  Lord  William,  if  you'd 

kindly  outline  your  views  on  the  national  situation; 

after  such  a  narrow  escape  from  death,  I  feel  they 

might  have  a  moral  effect.     My  paper,  as  you  know, 

is  concerned  with  the  deeper  aspect  of  things.     By  the 

way,  what  do  you  value  your  house  and  collection  at  ? 


18  THE   FOUNDATIONS  act  i 

Lord  W.  [Twisting  his  little  moustache]  Really — I 
can't !     Really ! 

Press.  Might  I  say  a  quarter  of  a  million — lifted  in 
two  seconds  and  a  haK — hundred  thousand  to  the 
second.     It  brings  it  home,  you  know. 

Lord  W.  No,  no;  dash  it !    No ! 

Press.  [Disappointed]  I  see — not  draw  attention  to 
yoiu-  property  in  the  present  excited  state  of  public 
feeling  ?  Well,  suppose  we  approach  it  from  the  view- 
point of  the  Anti-Sweating  dinner.  I  have  the  list  of 
guests — very  weighty  ! 

Lord  W.  Taken  some  lifting — wouldn't  they? 

Press.  [Seriously]  May  I  say  that  you  designed  the 
dinner  to  soften  the  tension,  at  this  crisis?  You  saw 
that  case,  I  suppose,  this  morning,  of  the  woman  dying 
of  starvation  in  Bethnal  Green? 

Lord  "VV.  [Desperately]  Yes — yes!  I've  been  horri- 
bly affected.  I  always  knew  this  slump  would  come 
after  the  war,  sooner  or  later. 

Press.  [Writijig]  "...  had  predicted  slump." 

Lord  W.  You  see,  I've  been  an  Anti-Sweating  man 
for  years,  and  I  thought  if  only  we  could  come  together 
now.  .  .  . 

Press.  [Xoddijig]  I  see — I  see!  Get  Society  inter- 
ested in  the  Sweated,  through  the  dinner.  I  have  the 
menu  here.  [He  produces  it. 

Lord  W.  Good  God,  man — more  than  that !  I 
want  to  show  the  people  that  we  stand  side  by  side 
with  them,  as  we  did  in  the  trenches.  The  whole 
thing's  too  jolly  awful.     I  lie  awake  over  it. 

[He  ivalks  up  and  down. 


ACT  I  THE  FOUNDATIONS  19 

Press.  [Scrihhling]  One  moment,  please.  I'll  just 
get  that  down — "Too  jolly  awful — lies  awake  over  it. 
Was  wearing  a  white  waistcoat  with  pearl  buttons." 
[At  a  si^n  of  resentment  from  his  victim]  I  want  the 
human  touch,  Lord  William— it's  eveniihmg  in  my 
paper.  \Miat  do  you  say  about  this  attempt  to  bomb 
you? 

Lord  W.  Well,  m  a  way  I  thmk  it's  d— d  natural. 
Press.  [Scribbling]  "Lord  William  thought  it  d— d 
natural." 

Lord  W.  [Overhearing]  No,  no;  don't  put  that 
down.  ^Miat  I  mean  is,  I  should  like  to  get  hold  of 
those  fellows  that  are  singing  the  Marseillaise  about 
the  streets — fellows  that  have  been  m  the  war— real 
sports  they  are,  you  know — thorough  good  chaps  at 
bottom — and  say  to  them:  "Have  a  feelmg  heart, 
boys;  put  yourself  m  my  position."  I  don't  believe 
a  bit  they'd  want  to  bomb  me  then. 

[He  icalks  up  and  doicn. 
Press.  [Scribbling    and    muttering]  "The    idea    of 

brotherhood "     D'you    mind    my    sa\ing    that.^ 

Word  brotherhood — always  effective — always 

[He  irrites. 
Lord  W.  [Bewildered]  "Brotherhood!"  Well,  it's 
pure  accident  that  I'm  here  and  they're  there.  All 
the  same,  I  can't  pretend  to  be  starving.  Can't  go 
out  into  Hyde  Park  and  stand  on  a  tub,  can  I  .^  But 
if  I  could  only  show  them  what  I  feel— they're  such 
good  chaps — poor  devils. 

Press.  I  quite  appreciate!  [He  icrites]  "Camel  and 
needle's  eve."     You  were  at  Eton  and  Oxford  ?     Your 


20  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  i 

constituency  I  know.  Clubs  ?  But  I  can  get  all  that. 
Is  it  yoiu-  view  that  Christianity  is  on  the  up-grade, 
Lord  William.^ 

Lord  W.  [Dubimi^]  "VMiat  d'you  mean  by  Christi- 
anity— loving-kindness  and  that  .^  Of  course  I  think 
that  dogma's  got  the  knock.  [He  walks. 

Press.  [Writing]  "Lord  William  thought  dogma 
had  got  the  knock."  I  should  like  you  just  to  develop 
your  definition  of  Christianity.  "Loving-kindness" — 
strikes  rather  a  new  note. 

Lord  W.  Neic?  What  about  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount  ? 

Press.  [Writing]  "  Refers  to  Sermon  on  Mount."  I 
take  it  you  don't  belong  to  any  Church,  Lord  William  ? 

Lord  W.  [Exasperated]  Well,  really — I've  been  bap- 
tised and  that  sort  of  thing.     But  look  here 

Press.  Oh !  you  can  trust  me — I  shan't  say  any- 
thing that  you'll  regret.  Now,  do  you  consider  that 
a  religious  revival  would  help  to  cjuiet  the  country  ? 

Lord  W.  Well,  I  think  it  would  be  a  deuced  good 
thing  if  everybody  were  a  bit  more  kind. 

Press.  Ah!  [Mming]  I  feel  that  your  views  are 
strikingly  origmal.  Lord  William.  If  you  could  just 
open  out  on  them  a  little  more.^  How  far  would  you 
apply  kindness  in  practice  ? 

Lord  W.  Can  j-ou  apply  it  in  theory.^ 

Press.  I  believe  it  is  done.  But  would  you  allow 
yourself  to  be  blown  up  with  impunity  ? 

Lord  W^  Well,  that's  a  bit  extreme.  But  I  quite 
s\Tnpathise  with  this  chap.  Imagine  yourself  in  his 
shoes.     He  sees  a  huge  house,  all  these  bottles,  us  swill- 


ACT  I  THE  FOUNDATIONS  21 

ing  them  down;  perhaps  he's  got  a  starving  wife,  or 
consumptive  kids. 

Press.  [Writing  and  murmuring]  Um-m!     "Kids." 

Lord  W.  He  thinks:  "But  for  the  grace  of  God, 
there  swill  I.  Why  should  that  blighter  have  every- 
thing and  I  nothing?"  and  all  that. 

Press.  [Writing]  "And  all  that."  [Eagerhj]  Yes? 

Lord  W.  And  gradually — you  see — this  contrast — 
becomes  an  obsession  with  him.  "There's  got  to  be 
an  example  made,"  he  thinks;  and — er — he  makes  it, 
don't  you  know? 

Press.  [Writin-g]  Ye-es?  And — when  you're  the 
example  ? 

Lord  W.  Well,  you  feel  a  bit  blue,  of  course.  But 
my  point  is  that  you  quite  see  it. 

Press.  From  the  other  world.  Do  you  believe  in 
a  future  life.  Lord  William?  The  public  took  a  lot 
of  interest  in  the  question,  if  you  remember,  at  the 
time  of  the  war.  It  might  revive  at  any  moment,  if 
there's  to  be  a  revolution. 

Lord  W.  The  wish  is  always  father  to  the  thought, 
isn't  it? 

Press.  Yes!  But — er — doesn't  the  question  of  a 
future  life  rather  bear  on  j'our  point  about  kindness  ? 
If  there  isn't  one — why  be  kind  ? 

Lord  W.  Well,  I  should  say  one  oughtn't  to  be 
kind  for  any  motive — that's  self-interest;  but  just 
because  one  feels  it,  don't  you  know. 

Press.  [Writing  vigoroudy]  That's  very  new — very 
new ! 

Lord  W.  [Simply]  You  chaps  are  wonderful. 


22                 THE  FOUNDATIONS            act  i 
Press.  [Doubtfully]  You  mean  we're — weVe 


Lord  W.  No,  really.  You  have  such  a  d — d  hard 
time.  It  must  be  perfectly  beastly  to  interview  fel- 
lows like  me. 

Press.  Oh !  Not  at  all,  Lord  William.  Not  at  all. 
I  assure  you  compared  with  a  literary  man,  it's — it's 
almost  heavenly. 

Lord  W.  You  must  have  a  wonderful  knowledge  of 
things. 

Press.  [Bridling  a  little]  "Well — I  shouldn't  say  that. 

Lord  W.  I  don't  see  how  you  can  avoid  it.  You 
turn  your  hands  to  everything. 

Press.  [Modestl?/]  Well — yes,  yes. 

Lord  W.  I  say :  Is  there  really  going  to  be  a  revolu- 
tion, or  are  you  making  it  up,  you  Press  .^ 

Press.  We  don't  know.  We  never  know  whether 
we  come  before  the  event,  or  it  comes  before  us. 

Lord  W.  That's    very    deep — very    deep.     D'you 

mind  lending  me  your  note-book  a  moment.     I'd  like 

to  stick  that  down.    All  right,  I'll  use  the  other  end. 

[The  Press  hands  it  hypnotically. 

Lord  W.  [Jotting]  Thanks  awfully.  Now  what's 
your  real  opinion  of  the  situation? 

Press.  As  a  man  or  a  Press  man  ? 

Lord  W.  Is  there  any  difference  ? 

Press.  Is  there  any  connection  ? 

Lord  W.  Well,  as  a  man. 

Press.  As  a  man,  I  think  it's  rotten. 

Lord  W.  [Jotting]  "Rotten."    And  as  a  pressman  ? 

Press.  [Smiling]  Prime. 


ACT  I  THE   FOUNDATIONS  23 

Lord  W.  What!    Like  a  Stilton  cheese.     Ha,  ha! 

[He  is  about  to  icrite. 

Press.  My  stunt,  Lord  William.     You  said  that. 

[He  jots  it  on  his  cuff. 

Lord  W.  But  look  here!  Would  you  say  that  a 
strong  press  movement  would  help  to  quiet  the  country  ? 

Press.  Well,  as  you  ask  me.  Lord  William,  I'll  tell 
you.     No  newspapers  for  a  month  would  do  the  trick. 

Lord  W.  [Jotting]  By  Jove !    That's  brilliant. 

Press.  Yes,  but  I  should  starve.  [He  suddenly  looks 
up,  and  his  eyes,  like  gimlets,  bore  their  way  into  Lord 
WiLLLOi's  pleasant,  troubled  face]  Lord  William,  you 
could  do  me  a  real  kindness.  'Authorise  me  to  go  and 
interview  the  fellow  who  left  the  bomb  here;  I've  got 
his  address.  I  promise  you  to  do  it  most  discreetly. 
Fact  is — well — I'm  in  low  water.  Since  the  war  we 
simply  can't  get  sensation  enough  for  the  new  taste. 
Now,  if  I  could  have  an  article  headed:  "Bombed  and 
Bomber" — sort  of  double  inter\aew,  you  know,  it'd 
very  likely  set  me  on  my  legs  again.  [Very  earnestly] 
Look  !  [He  holds  out  his  frayed  ivristbands. 

Lord  W.  [Grasping  his  hand]  My  dear  chap,  cer- 
tainly. Go  and  mterview  this  bhghter,  and  then 
bring  him  round  here.  You  can  do  that  for  me.  I'd 
very  much  like  to  see  him,  as  a  matter  of  fact. 

Press.  Thanks  awfully;  I  shall  never  forget  it.  Oh! 
might  I  have  my  note-book.^ 

[Lord  Willloi  hands  it  back. 

Lord  W.  And  look  here,  if  there's  anything — when 

a  fellow's  fortunate  and  another's  not 

[He  puts  his  hand  into  his  breast  pocket. 


24  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  i 

Press.  Oh,  thank  you !  But  you  see,  I  shall  have 
to  write  you  up  a  bit.  Lord  William.  The  old  aris- 
tocracy— you  know  what  the  public  still  expects;  if 

you  were  to  lend  me  money,  you  might  feel 

Lord  W.  By  Jove!    Never  should  have  dreamt 

Press.  No !    But  it  wouldn't  do.     Have  you  a  pho- 
tograph of  yourself. 
Lord  W.  Not  on  me. 

Press.  Pity !    By  the  way,  has  it  occurred  to  you 
that  there  may  be  another  bomb  on  the  premises  ? 
Lord  W.  Phew !    I'll  have  a  look. 

He  looks  at  his  watch,  and  begins  hurriedly 
searching  the  bins,  bending  down  and  going 
on  his  knees.     The  Press  reverses  the  note- 
book again  and  sketches  him. 
Press.  [To  himself]  Ah!    That'll  do.     "Lord  Wil- 
liam examines  the  foundations  of  his  house." 

A  voice  calls  ''Bill  /"     The  Press  snaps  the 

note-book  to,  and  looks  up.     There,  where  the 

*' communication  trench"  runs  in,  stands  a 

tall  and  elegant  woman  in  the  extreme  of 

evening  dress. 

[With  presence  of  mind]  Lady  William?     You'll  find 

Lord  William— Oh !  Have  you  a  photograph  of  him  ? 

Lady  \7.  Not  on  me. 

Press.  [Eyeing    her]  Er — no — I    suppose    not — no. 
Excuse  me !  [He  sidles  past  her  and  is  gone. 

Lady  W.  [With  lifted  eyebrows]  Bill ! 
Lord  W.  [Emerging,  dusting  his  knees]  Hallo,  Nell ! 
I  was  just  making  sure  there  wasn't  another  bomb. 


ACT  I  THE  FOUNDATIONS  25 

Lady  W.  Yes;  that's  why  I  came  down.  Who  was 
that  person? 

Lord  W.  Press. 

Lady  W.  He  looked  awfully  yellow.  I  hope  you 
haven't  been  giving  yourself  away. 

Lord  W.  [Dubiously]  Well,  I  don't  know.  They're 
like  corkscrews. 

Lady  W.  ^^^lat  did  he  ask  you  ? 

Lord  W.  What  didn't  he.^ 

Lady  W.  W^ell,  what  did  you  tell  him  ? 

Lord  W.  That  I'd  been  baptised — but  he  promised 
not  to  put  it  down. 

Lady  W.  Bill,  you  are  absurd. 

[She  gives  a  light  little  laugh. 

Lord  W.  I  don't  remember  anything  else,  except 
that  it  was  quite  natural  we  should  be  bombed,  don't 
you  know. 

Lady  W.  Why,  what  harm  have  we  done  ? 

Lord  W.  Been  born,  my  dear.  [Suddenly  serious] 
I  say,  Nell,  how  am  I  to  tell  what  this  fellow  felt  when 
he  left  that  bomb  here.'' 

Lady  W.  "WTiy  do  you  want  to.'* 

Lord  W.  Out  there  one  used  to  know  what  one's 
men  felt. 

Lady  W.  [Staring]  My  dear  boy,  I  really  don't 
think  you  ought  to  see  the  Press;  it  always  upsets  you. 

Lord  W.  Well!  Why  should  you  and  I  be  going 
to  eat  ourselves  silly  to  improve  the  condition  of  the 
sweated,  when 

Lady  W.  [Calmly]  When    they're    going    to    "im- 


26  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  i 

prove"  ours,  if  we  don't  look  out.     We've  got  to  get 
in  first,  Bill. 

Lord  W.  [Gloomily]  I  know.  It's  all  fear.  That's 
it !  Here  we  are,  and  here  we  shall  stay — as  if  there'd 
never  been  a  war. 

Lady  W.  Well,  thank  heaven  there's  no  "front"  to 
a  revolution.  You  and  I  can  go  to  glory  together  this 
time.     Compact !    Anything  that's  on,  I'm  to  share  in. 

Lord  W.  Well,  in  reason. 

Lady  W.  No,  in  rhyme,  too. 

Lord  W.  I  say,  your  dress ! 

Lady  W.  Yes,  Poulder  tried  to  stop  me,  but  I 
wasn't  going  to  have  you  blown  up  without  me. 

Lord  W.  You  duck.  You  do  look  stunning.  Give 
us  a  kiss ! 

Lady  W.  [Starting  back]  Oh,  Bill !  Don't  touch  me 
— your  hands ! 

Lord  W.  Never  mmd,  my  mouth's  clean. 

Theij  stand  about  a  yard  apart,  and  bending 
their  faces  towards  each  other  ^  kiss  on  the  lips. 

L.  Anne.  [Appearing  suddenly  from  the  *' communi- 
cation trench,'*  and  tip-toeing  silently  between  them]  Oh, 
Mum !  You  and  Daddy  are  wasting  time !  Dinner's 
ready,  j^ou  know ! 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 

The  single  room  of  old  IVIrs.  LEMiiY,  in  a  small  grey 
house  in  Bethnal  Green,  the  room  of  one  cumbered 
by  little  save  age,  and  the  crockery  debris  of  the  past. 
A  bed,  a  cupboard,  a  coloured  portrait  of  Queen 
Victoria,  and— of  all  things  —a  fiddle,  hanging  on 
the  wall.  By  the  side  of  old  Mrs.  LoDnr  in  her 
chair  is  a  pile  of  corduroy  troupers,  her  day's  sweated 
sewing,  and  a  small  table.  She  sits  with  her  back 
to  the  window,  through  which,  in  tlie  last  of  the  light, 
the  opposite  side  of  tlie  little  grey  street  is  visible 
under  the  evening  sky,  where  hangs  one  white  cloud 
shaped  like  a  horned  beast.  She  is  still  sewing,  and 
her  lips  move.  Being  old,  and  lonely,  she  has  that 
habit  of  talking  to  herself,  distressing  to  those  who 
cannot  overhear.  From  the  smack  of  her  tongue 
she  was  once  a  West  Country  cottage  woman;  from 
the  look  of  her  creased,  parchmenty  face,  she  ivas 
once  a  pretty  girl  with  black  eyes,  in  which  there  is 
still  much  vitality.  The  door  is  opened  with  diffi- 
culty and  a  little  girl  enters,  carrying  a  pile  of  un- 
finished corduroy  trousers  nearly  as  large  as  herself. 
She  puts  them  down  against  the  wall,  and  advances. 
She  is  eleven  or  twelve  years  old ;  large-eyed,  dark- 
haired,  and  sallow.  Half  a  woman  of  this  and 
27 


28  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  ii 

halj  of  another  world,  except  when  as  now,  she  is  as 
irresponsible  a  bit  of  life  as  a  little  flowering  weed 
growing  out  of  a  wall.  She  stands  looking  at  Mrs. 
Lemmy  with  dancing  eyes. 

L.  AiDA.  I've    brought    yer    to-morrer's    trahsers. 
Y'nt  yer  finished  wiv  to-dy's  ?     I  want  to  tyke  'em. 

Mrs.  L.  No,  me  dear.     Drat  this  last  one — me  old 
f  engers ! 
L.  AiDA.  I  learnt  some  poytry  to-dy — I  did. 
Mrs.  L.  Well,  I  never ! 
L.  AiDA.  [Reciting  with  unction] 

"Little  lamb  who  myde  thee.' 
Dost  thou  know  who  myde  thee. 
Gyve  thee  life  and  byde  thee  feed 
By  the  stream  and  o'er  the  mead; 
Gyve  thee  clothing  of  delight. 
Softest  clothing,  woolly,  bright; 
G;y^'e  thee  such  a  tender  voice, 
Myking  all  the  vyles  rejoice. 

Little  lamb  who  myde  thee.' 
Dost  thou  know  who  myde  thee?" 
Mrs.  L.  Tes  wonderful  what  thmgs  they  tache  yu 
nowadays. 

L.  AiDA.  When  I  grow  up  I'm  goin'  to  'ave  a  revol- 
ver an'  shoot  the  people  that  steals  my  jools. 

^Irs.  L.  Deary-me,  wherever  du  yu  get  yure  no- 
tions ? 

L.  AiDA.  An'  I'm  goin'  to  ride  on  an  'orse  be'ind  a 
man;  an'  I'm  goin'  to  ryce  trynes  in  my  motor  car. 


ACT  II  THE  FOUNDATIONS  29 

Mrs.  L.  [Dryly]  Ah !  Yu*um  gwine  to  be  very  busy, 
that's  sartin.     Can  you  sew  ? 

L.  AiDA.  [With  a  smile]  Nao. 

Mrs.  L.  Don'  they  tache  yu  that,  there? 

L.  AiDA.  [Blending  contempt  and  a  lingering  curi- 
osity] Nao. 

Mrs.  L.  Tes  wonderful  genteel. 

L.  AiDA.  I  can  smg,  though. 

Mrs.  L.  Let's  'ear  yu,  then. 

L.  AiDA.  [Shaking  her  head]  I  can  ply  the  planner. 
I  can  ply  a  tune. 

Mrs.  L.  Whose  planner.^ 

L.  AiDA.  Mrs.  Brahn's  when  she's  gone  aht. 

Mrs.  L.  Well,  j^  are-gettm'  edjucation !  Du  they 
tache  yu  to  love  yure  neighbours  ? 

L.  xA.iDA.  [Ineffably]  Nao.  [Straying  to  the  vnndow] 
Mrs.  Lemmy,  what's  the  moon  ? 

Mrs.  L,  The  mune.''  Us  yused  to  zay  'twas  made 
o'  crame  cheese. 

L.  AiDA.  I  can  see  it. 

Mrs.  L.  Ah !  Don'  yu  never  go  wishin'  for  it,  me 
dear. 

L.  AiDA.  I  daon't. 

Mrs.  L.  Folks  as  wish  for  the  mune  never  du  no 
gude. 

L.  AiDA.  [Craning  end,  brilliant]  I'm  goin'  dahn  in 
the  street.     I'll  come  back  for  yer  trahsers. 

Mrs.  L.  Well,  go  yu,  then,  an'  get  a  breath  o'  fresh 
air  in  joire  chakes.     I'll  sune  'a  feneshed. 


30  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  ii 

L.  AiDA.  [Solemnly]  I'm  goin'  to  be  a  dancer,  I  am. 

She  rushes  suddenly  to  the  door,  pulls  it  open, 

and  is  gone. 

IVIrs.  L.  [Looking  after  her,  and  talking  to  herself] 

Ah!     'Er've  a-got  all  'er  troubles  before  'er!     "Little 

lamb,  u  made 'ee?"  [Cackling]  'Tes  a  fminy  world,  tu ! 

[She  sings  to  herself. 

"There  is  a  green  'ill  far  away 
Without  a  city  wall, 
Where  our  dear  Lord  was  crucified, 
'U  died  to  save  us  all." 

The  door  is  opened,  and  Le:mmy  comes  in  ;  a 
little  man  with  a  stuhhle  of  dark  moustache 
and  spiky  dark  hair;  large,  peculiar  eyes 
he  has,  and  a  look  of  laying  his  ears  hack, 
a  look  of  doubting,  of  perversity  with  laughter 
up  the  sleeve,  that  grows  on  those  who  have 
to  do  with  gas  and  water.  He  shuts  the  door. 
Mrs.  L.  Well,  Bob,  I  'aven't  a-seen  yu  this  tu 
weeks. 

Lemmy  comes  up  to  his  mother,  and  sits  down 

on  a  stool,  sets  a  tool-hag  betioeen  his  knees, 

and  speaks  in  a  cockney  voice. 

Lemmy.  Well,  old  lydy  o'  leisure!    Wot  would  y' 

'ave  for  supper,  if  yer  could  choose — salmon  wivaht 

the  tin,  an'  tipsy  cyke  ? 

Mrs.  L.  [Shak-ing  her  head  and  smiling  blandly] 
That's  showy.  Toad  in  the  'ole  I'd  'ave — and  a  glass 
o*  port  wine. 


ACT  II  THE  FOUNDATIONS  31 

LEiNCkiY.  Providential.  [He  opens  a  tool-bag]  "Wot 
d'yer  think  I've  got  yer? 

ISIrs.  L.  I  'ope  yu've  a-got  yureself  a  job,  my  son ! 

Lemmy.  [With  his  peculiar  smile]  Yus,  or  I  couldn't 
'ave  afforded  yer  this.  [He  takes  out  a  bottle]  Not  'arf ! 
This'll  put  the  blood  into  yer.  Pork  wine — once  in 
the  cellars  of  the  gryte.  We'll  drink  the  ryyal  family 
in  this. 

[He  apostrophises  the  portrait  of  Queen  Victoria. 

Mrs.  L.  Ah!  She  was  a  praaper  gude  queen.  I 
see  'er  once,  when  'er  was  bein'  hurried. 

LEiiMY.  Ryalties — I  got  nothin'  to  sy  agynst  'em 
in  this  country.  But  the  Styte  'as  got  to  'ave  its 
pipes  seen  to.  The  'ole  show's  gom'  up  pop.  Yer'll 
wyke  up  one  o'  these  dyes,  old  lydy,  and  find  yerself 
on  the  roof,  wiv  nuflSn'  between  yer  an'  the  grahnd. 

Mrs.  L.  I  can't  tell  what  yu'm  talkm'  about. 

Lemmy.  We're  goin'  to  'ave  a  triumpherat  in  this 
country— Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity;  an'  if  yer  arsk 
me,  they  won't  be  in  power  six  months  before  they've 
cut  each  other's  throats.  But  I  don't  care — I  want 
to  see  the  blood  flow!  [Dispassionately]  I  don'  care 
'oose  blood  it  is.     I  want  to  see  it  flow ! 

IVIrs.  L.  [Indulgently]  Yu'm  a  funny  boy,  that's 
sartin. 

Lemmy.  [Carving  at  the  cork  vdth  a  knife]  This  'ere 
cork  is  like  Sasiety— rotten;  it's  old — old  an'  moulderin'. 
[He  holds  up  a  bit  of  cork  on  the  point  of  the  knife] 
Crumblin'  under  the  wax,  it  is.  In  goes  the  screw  an' 
out   comes   the   cork.  [With   unction] — an'   the   blood 


32  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  ii 

flows.  [Tipping  the  bottle ,  he  lets  a  drop  fall  into  the 
middle  of  hw  hand,  and  licks  it  up.  Gazing  with  queer 
and  doubting  commiseration  at  his  mother]  Well,  old 
dear,  wot  shall  we  'ave  it  aht  of — the  gold  loving-cup, 
or — what?  *Ave  yer  supper  fust,  though,  or  it'll  go 
to  yer  'ead!  [He  goes  to  the  cupboard  and  takes  out  a 
dish  in  which  a  little  bread  is  sopped  in  a  little  milk] 
Cold  pap !  'Ow  can  yer  ?  'Yn't  yer  got  a  kipper  in 
the  *ouse? 

Mrs.  L.  [Adjuiring  the  bottle]  Port  wine!  'Tis  a 
brave  treat!  I'll  'ave  it  out  of  tlie  "Present  from 
Margitt,"  Bob.  I  tuk  'ee  therr  by  excursion  when  ya 
was  six  months.  Yu  'ad  a  shrimp  an'  it  choked  yu 
praaperly.  Yu  was  always  a  squeamy  little  feller.  I 
can't  never  think  'ow  yu  managed  in  the  war-time, 
makin'  they  shells. 

Lemmy,  ivho  has  brought  to  the  table  two  mugs 

and  blown  the  dust  out  of  them,  fills  them 

urith  port,  and  hands  one  to  his  mother,  who 

is  eating  her  bread  and  milk. 

Lemmy.  Ah!    Nothin'  worried  me,  'cept  the  want 

o*  soap. 

Mrs.  L.  [Cackling  gently]  So  it  du  still,  then! 
Luke  at  yure  face.  Yu  never  was  a  clean  boy,  like 
Jim. 

5^^  puts  out  a  thin  finger  and  touches  his 
cheek,  whereon  is  a  black  smudge. 
Lemmy.  [Scrubbing   his   cheek  with    his   sleeve]    All 
right !    Y'see,  I  come  stryte  'ere,  to  get  rid  o'  this. 

[He  drinks. 


ACT  II  THE  FOUNDATIONS  33 

Mrs.  L.  [Eating  her  bread  and  milk]  'Tes  a  pity  yu'm 
not  got  a  wife  to  see't  yu  wash  yureself. 

Lemmy  [Goggling]  Wife!  Not  me — I  daon't  want 
ter  myke  no  food  for  pahder.  "Wot  oh ! — they  said, 
time  o'  the  war — ye're  fightin'  for  yer  children's 
'eritage.  Well,  wot's  the  'eritage  like,  now  we've  got 
it  ?  Empty  as  a  shell  before  yer  put  the  'igh  explosive 
in.  Wot's  it  like?  [Warming  to  /zw  theme]  Like  a 
prophecy  in  the  pj'pers — not  a  bit  more  substantial. 

IVIrs.  L.  [Slightly  hypywtised]  How  'e  du  talk  !  The 
gas  goes  to  yure  'ead,  I  think ! 

Lemmy.  I  did  the  gas  to-dy  in  the  cellars  of  an 
'ouse  where  the  wine  was  mountains  'igh.  A  regiment 
couldn't  'a  drunk  it.  Marble  pillars  in  the  'all,  butler 
broad  as  an  observj'tion  balloon,  an'  four  conscientious 
khaki  footmen.  "VMien  the  guns  was  roarin'  the  talk 
was  all  for  no  more  o'  them  glorious  weeds — style  an* 
luxury  was  orf.  See  wot  it  is  naow.  You've  got  a 
bare  crust  in  the  cupboard  'ere,  I  works  from  'and  to 
mouth  in  a  glutted  market — an'  there  they  stand  abaht 
agyne  in  their  britches  in  the  'ouses  o'  the  gryte.  I 
was  reg'lar  overcome  by  it.  I  left  a  thing  in  that  cel- 
lar— I  left  a  thing.  .  .  .  It'll  be  a  bit  ork'ard  for  me 
to-morrer.  [Drinks  from  his  mug. 

Mrs.  L.  [Placidly,  feeling  the  warmth  of  the  little  she 
has  drunk]  What  thing  ? 

Lemmy.  Wot  thing.'  Old  lydy,  ye're  like  a  winkle 
afore  yer  opens  'er — I  never  see  anything  so  peaceful. 
'Ow  d'yer  manage  it .' 

Mrs.  L.  Settin'  'ere  and  thenkin*. 


S4  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  ii 

Lemmy.  Wot  abaht  ? 

Mrs.  L.  We-el — Money,  an'  the  works  o'  God. 
Lemmy.  Ah !     So  yer  give  me  a  thought  sometimes. 
IMrs.  L.  [Lifting  her  mug]  Yu  ought  never  to  ha' 
spent  yure  money  on  this,  Bob  ! 
LoEViY.  I  thought  that  meself. 
IVIrs.  L.  Last  time  I  'ad  a  glass  o'  port  wine  was 
the  day  yure  brother  Jim  went  to  Ameriky.  [Smacking 
her  lips]  For  a  teetotal  drink,  it  du  warm  'ee ! 

Lem^iy.  [Raising  his  mug]  Well,  'ere's  to  the  British 
revolution !     'Ere's  to  the  conflygrytion  in  the  sky ! 

Mrs.  L.  [Comfortably]  So    as    to    kape    up    therr, 
'twon't  du  no  'arm. 

LEiEviY  goes  to  the  windoio  and  unhooks  his 
fiddle ;   he   stands   with   it   halfway   to   his 
shoulder.     Suddenly   he   opens   the   window 
and    leans    out.     A    confused    murmur    of 
voices  is  heard,  and  a  snatch  of  the  Marseil- 
laise, sung  by  a  girl.     Then  the  shuffling 
tramp  of  feet,  and  figures  are  pass^ing  in  the 
street. 
Lemmy.  [Turning — excited]  Wot'd    I    tell    yer,    old 
lydy  t     There  it  is — there  it  is  ! 
Mrs.  L.  [Placidly]  What  is? 

LEMiiY.  The    revolution.  [He    cranes    out]  They've 
got  it  on  a  barrer.     Cheerio ! 
Voice.  [Answering]  Cheerio! 

Lemmy.  [Leaning  out]  I   sy — you  'yn't  tykin'  the 
body,  are  yer? 
Voice.  Nao. 


ACT  II  THE  FOUNDATIONS  35 

Leaoiy.  Did  she  die  o'  starvytion — O.K.  ? 
Voice.  She  bloomin'  well  did;  I  know  'er  brother. 
LEiMY.  Ah !    That'll  do  us  a  bit  o'  good ! 
Voice.  Cheerio ! 
LE^rMY.  So  long ! 
Voice.  So  long ! 

The  girVs  voice  is  heard  again  in  the  distance 
singing  the  Marseillaise.     The  door  is  flung 
open  and  Little  Aid  a  comes  running  in 
again. 
Lemmy.  'Alio,  little  Aida ! 

L.  Aida.  'Alio,  I  been  follerin'  the  corfin.     It's  bet- 
ter than  an  'orse  dahn ! 
J^Irs.  L.  What  coffin  .^ 

L.  Aida.  ^^^ly,  'er's  wot  died  o'  starvytion  up  the 
street.  They're  gom'  to  tyke  it  to  'Yde  Pawk,  and 
'oiler. 

Mrs.  L.  Well,  never  yu  mind  wot  they*m  goin'  to 
du.     Yu  wait  an'  take  my  trousers  like  a  gude  gell. 

She  puts  her  mug  aside  and  takes  up  her  un- 
finished pair  of  trousers.     But  the  vnne  has 
entered  her  fingers,  and  strength  to  push  the 
needle  through  is  lacking. 
Lemmy.  [Tuning  his  fiddle]  Wot'll  yer  'ave,   little 
Aida?  "Dead  March  in  Saul"  or  "When  the  fields 
was  white  wiv  dysies"? 

L.  Aida.  [With  a  hop  and  a  hrilliant  smile]  Aoh 

yus !     "  \Mien  the  fields  " 

Mrs.  L.  [With  a  gesture  of  despair]  Deary  me !  I 
'aven't  a-got  the  strength ! 


36  THE   FOUNDATIONS  act  ii 

Lemmy.  Leave  'em  alone,  old  dear!  No  one' 11  be 
goin'  aht  wivaht  trahsers  to-night  'cos  yer  leaves  that 
one  undone.     Little  Aida,  fold  'em  up ! 

Little  Aida  methodically  folds  the  jive  finished 
'pairs  of  trousers  into  a  pile.  Lemmy  begins 
playing.  A  smile  comes  on  the  face  of  Mrs. 
Lemmy,  who  is  rubbing  her  fingers.  Little 
Aida,  trousers  over  arm,  goes  and  stares  at 
Lemmy  playing. 
Lemmy.  [Stopping]  Little  Aida,  one  o'  vese  dyes 
yer'll  myke  an  actress.     I  can  see  it  m  yer  fyce  ! 

[Little  Aida  looks  at  him  wide-eyed. 

Mrs.  L.  Don't  'ee  putt  things  into  'er  'ead.  Bob ! 

Lemmy.  'Tyn't  'er  'ead,  old  lydy — it's  lower.     She 

wants  feedin' — feed  'er  an'  she'll  rise.  [He  strikes  into 

the  '* Machichi"]  Look  at  'er  naow.     I  tell  yer  there's 

a  fortune  in  'er. 

[Little  Aida  has  put  out  her  tongue. 
Mrs.  L.  I'd  suner  there  was  a  gude  'eart  in  'er  than 
any  fortune. 

L.  Aida.  [Hugging  her  pile  of  trousers]  It's  thirteen 
pence  three  farthin's  I've  got  to  bring  yer,  an'  a  penny 
aht  for  me,  mykes  twelve  three  farthin's.  [With  the 
same  little  hop  and  sudden  smile]  I'm  goin'  to  ride  back 
on  a  bus,  I  am. 

Lemmy.  Well,  you  myke  the  most  of  it  up  there; 
it's  the  nearest  you'll  ever  git  to  'eaven. 

Mrs.  L.  Don'   yu   discourage    'er,    Bob;    she'm    a 
gude  little  thing,  an't  yu,  dear  ? 
L.  Aida.  [Simply]  Yus. 


ACT  II  THE  FOUNDATIONS  37 

Lem3IY.  Not   'arf.    Wot   c'her   do   wiv   yesterdy's 
penny  ? 

L.  AiDA.  Movies. 
Lemmy.  An'  the  dy  before  ? 
L.  Aid  A.  Movies. 

Lemmy.  Wot'd  I  tell  yer,  old  lydy — she's  got  vicious 
tystes,  she'll  finish  in  the  theayter  yet.    Tyke  my  tip, 
little  Aida;  you  put  every  penny  into  yer  foundytions, 
yer'll  get  on  the  boards  quicker  that  wy. 
Mrs.  L.  Don'  \'u  pay  no  'eed  to  his  talk. 
L.  Aida.  I  daon't. 

Lemmy.  Would  yer  like  a  sip  aht  o'  my  mug  ? 
L.  Aida.  [Brilliant]  Yus. 

Mrs.  L.  Not  at  ^'^u•e  age,  me  dear,  though  it  is 
teetotal. 

Little  Aida  puis  her  head  on  one  side,  like 
a  dog  trying  to  understand. 
Lemmy.  W'ell,  'ave  one  o'  my  gum-drops. 

[Holds  out  a  paper. 
Little  Aida,  brilliant,  takes  a  flat,  dark  sub- 
stance from  it,  and  puts  it  in  her  mouth. 
Give  me  a  kiss,  an'  I'll  give  yer  a  penny. 

Little  Aida  shakes  her  head,  and  leans  out 
of  window. 
Muwer,  she  daon't  know  the  valyer  of  money. 
Mrs.  L.  Never  mind  'im,  me  dear. 
L.  Aida.  [Sucking     the    gum-drop — with    difficulty] 
There's  a  taxi-cab  at  the  corner. 

Little  Aida  runs  to  the  door.  A  figure  stands 
in  the  dooncay  ;  she  skids  round  him  and 
out.    The  Press  comes  in. 


38  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  ii 

Lemmy.  [Duhiotisly]  Wot — oh! 

Press.  Mr.  Lemmy? 

Lemmy.  The  syme. 

Press.  I'm  from  the  Press. 

Lemmy.  Blimy. 

Press.  They  told  me  at  your  place  you  were  very 
likely  here. 

LEiorsr.  Yus — I  left  Downin'  Street  a  bit  early 
to-dy  !  [He  hcangs  the  fiddle-stri?igs  pompously. 

Press.  [Taking  out  his  note-hook  and  writing]  "Fid- 
dles while  Rome  is  burning!"  jMt.  Lemmy,  it's  my 
business  at  this  very  critical  time  to  find  out  v,-hat  the 
nation's  thinking.  Now,  as  a  representative  working 
man 

Lemmy.  That's  me. 

Press.  You  can  help  me.     WTiat  are  your  views  ? 

Lemmy.  [Putting  down  fiddle]  Voos  ?     Sit  dahn  ! 

The  Press  sits  on  the  stool  which  Lemmy  has 
vacated. 
The    Press — my    Muvver.    Seventy-seven.     She's    a 
wonder;  'yni  yer,  old  dear.^ 

Press.  Very  happy  to  make  your  acquaintance. 
Ma'am.  [He  writes]  "^Irs.  Lemmy,  one  of  the  veterans 

of  industry "     By  the  way,  I've  just  passed  a  lot 

of  people  following  a  coffin. 

Lemmy.  Centre  o'  the  cyclone — cyse  o'  starvji;ion; 
you  'ad  'er  in  the  pyper  this  mornin'. 

Press.  Ah,  yes  !  Tragic  occurrence.  [Looking  at  the 
trousers]  Hub  of  the  Sweated  Industries  just  here.  I 
especially  want  to  get  at  the  heart 


ACT  II  THE  FOUNDATIONS  39 

I^Irs.  L.  Twasn't  the  'eart,  'twas  the  stomach. 

Press.  [Writing]  "Mrs.  Lemmy  goes  straight  to 
the  pomt." 

Lemmy.  Mister,  is  it  my  voos  or  Muvver's  yer  want  ? 

Press.  Both. 

Lemmy.  'Cos  if  yer  get  Muvver's,  yer  won't  'ave 
time  for  mine.  I  tell  yer  stryte  [ConfidentiaUy]  she's 
got  a  glawss  o'  port  wine  in  'er.  Naow,  mind  yer,  I'm 
not  anxious  to   be   intervooed.     On  the  other   'and, 

anyfink  I  might  'ave  to  sy  of  valyer There  is  a 

clawss  o'  politician  that  'as  nuffin  to  sy Aoh !  an' 

daon't  'e  sy  it  just !  I  dunno  wot  pyper  yer  repre- 
sent  

Press.  [Smiling]  Well,  Mr.  Lemmy,  it  has  the  big- 
gest influ 

Lemmy.  They  all  *as  that;  dylies,  weeklies,  evenin's, 
Sundyes;  but  it's  of  no  consequence — my  voos  are  open 
and  above-board.     Naow,  wot  shall  we  begin  abaht.' 

Press.  Yourself,  if  you  please.  And  I'd  like  you 
to  know  at  once  that  my  paper  wants  the  human  note, 
the  real  heart-beat  of  thmgs. 

Lemmy.  I  see;  sensytion!  Well,  'ere  am  I — a  fust- 
clawss  plumber's  assistant — in  a  job  to-dy  an'  out  to- 
morrer.  There's  a  'eart-beat  in  that,  I  tell  yer.  'Go 
knows  wot  the  morrer  'as  for  me ! 

Press.  [Writing]  "The  great  human  issue — Mr. 
Lemmy  touches  it  at  once." 

Lem^iy.  I  sy — keep  my  njTne  aht  o'  this;  I  don'  go 
in  fer  self-advertisement. 


40  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  it 

Press.  [Writing]  "True  working-man — modest  as 
usual." 

Lemmy.  I  daon't  want  to  embarrass  the  Gover'- 
ment.  They're  so  ticklish  ever  since  they  got  the 
'abit,  war-time,  o'  mindin'  wot  people  said. 

Press.  Right-o! 

Lemmy.  For  instance,  suppose  there's  goin'  to  be  a 

revolution [The  Press  writes  with  energy. 

'Ow  does  it  touch  me?     Like  this:  I  my  go  up — I 
cawn't  come  dahn;  no  more  can  Muvver. 

Mrs.  L.  [Surprisingly]  Us  all  goes  do-v^Ti  into  the 
grave. 

Press.  *'Mrs.  Lemmy  interjects  the  deeper  note." 

Lemmy.  Naow,  the  gr\i:e — they  can  come  dahn,  but 
they  cawn't  go  up !  See !  Put  two  an'  two  together, 
an'  that's  'ow  it  touches  me.  [He  utters  a  throaty  laugh] 
'Ave  yer  got  that? 

Press.  [Quizzical]  Not  go  up  ?  What  about  bombs, 
Mr.  Lemmy? 

Lemmy.  [Dubiom]  Wot  abaht  'em?  I  s'pose  ye're 
on  the  comic  p>T)ers  ?  'Ave  yer  noticed  wot  a  weak- 
ness they  'ave  for  the  'orrible  ? 

Press.  [Writing]  "A  grim  humour  peeped  out  here 
and  there  through  the  earnestness  of  his  talk." 

[He  sketches  Lemmy's  profile. 

Lemmy.  We  'ad  an  explosion  in  my  factory  time  o' 
the  war,  that  would  just  ha'  done  for  you  comics. 
[He  meditates]  Lord!  They  was  after  it  too,— they 
an'  the  Sundyes;  but  the  Censor  did  'em.  Strike  me, 
I  could  tell  yer  thmgs ! 


ACT  II  THE   FOUNDATIONS  41 

Press.  That's  what  I  want,  'Mi.  Lemmy;  tell  me 
things ! 

LEMiiY.  [Mming]  It's  a  funny  world,  ATi't  it  ?  'Ow 
we  did  blow  e-ach  other  up  !  [Getting  up  to  admire]  1  sy, 
I  shall  be  syfe  there.  That  won't  betry  me  ano- 
n\Tniety.     ^^^ly  !  I  looks  like  the  Prime  Minister ! 

Press.  [Rather  hurt]  You  were  going  to  tell  me 
things. 

LEiGiY.  Yus,  an'  they'll  be  the  troof,  too. 

Press.  I  hope  so;  we  don't 

Lemmy.  Wot  oh! 

Press.  [A  little  confiised]  We  always  try  to  verify 

Lemmy.  Yer  leave  it  at  tryin',  daon't  yer  ?  Never, 
mind,  ye're  a  gr\i:e  institootion.  Blimy,  yer  do  have 
jokes  wiv  it,  spinnin'  rahnd  on  yer  own  tyles,  denyin' 
to-dy  wot  ye're  goin'  to  print  to-morrer.  Ah,  well ! 
Ye're  like  all  of  us  below  the  line  o'  comfort — live 
dangerously — every  dy  yer  last.  That's  wy  I'm  inter- 
ested in  the  future. 

Press.  Well  now — the  future.  [Writing]  "He  proph- 
esies." 

Lemmy.  It's  sj-f er,  H-n't  it  ?  [He  wink^]  No  one  never 
looks  back  on  prophecies.  I  remembers  an  editor — 
spring  o'  1915 — stykin'  his  reputytion  the  war'd  be 
over  in  the  follerin'  October.  Increased  'is  circulj'tion 
abaht  'arf  a  milUon  by  it.  1917 — an'  war  still  on — 'ad 
'is  readers  gone  back  on  'im  ?  Nao !  They  was  in- 
creasin'  like  rabbits.  Prophesy  wot  people  want  to 
believe,  an'  ye're  s^'fe.  Xaow,  I'll  styke  my  reputytion 
on  somethin',  you  tyke  it  dahn  word  for  word.     This 


42  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  ii 

country's  goin'  to  tlie  dawgs Naow,  'ere's  the 

sensytion — unless  we  gets  a  new  religion. 

Press.  Ah !    Now  for  it — yes  ? 

LEiiMY.  In  one  word:  "Kindness."  Daon't  mistyke 
me,  nao  sickly  sentiment  and  nao  patronizin'.  Me  as 
kind  to  the  millionaire  as  'im  to  me.  [Fills  his  mug  and 
drinks.] 

Press.  [Struck]  That's  queer !  Kindness !  [Writing] 
"Extremes  meet.  Bombed  and  bomber  breathing  the 
same  music." 

Le^imy.  But  'ere's  the  interestin'  pynt.  Can  it  be 
done  wivaht  blood  .^ 

Press.  [Writing]  "He  doubts." 

Lemmy.  No  daht  wotever.  It  cawn't!  Blood — 
and — kindness !  Spill  the  blood  o'  them  that  aren't 
kind — an'  there  ye  are  ! 

Press.  But  pardon  me,  how  are  you  to  tell .'' 

LEi£MY.  Blimy,  they  leaps  to  the  heye ! 

Press.  [Laying  down  his  note-book]  I  say,  let  me  talk 
to  you  as  man  to  man  for  a  moment. 

Lem^iy.  Orl  right.     Give  it  a  rest ! 

Press.  Your  sentiments  are  familiar  to  me.  I've 
got  a  friend  on  the  Press  who's  very  keen  on  Christ 
and  kindness;  and  wants  to  strangle  the  last  king  with 
the — hamstrings  of  the  last  priest. 

Le:mmy.  [Greatly  intrigued]  Not  'arf !    Does  'e  ? 

Press.  Yes.  But  have  you  thought  it  out  .'^  Because 
he  hasn't. 

Lemmy.  The  difficulty  is — where  to  stop. 

Pbess.  Where  to  begin. 


ACT  II  THE  FOUNDATIONS  43 

Lemmy.  Lawd !  I  could  begin  almost  anj'where. 
Why,  every  month  abaht,  there's  a  cove  turns  me  aht 
of  a  job  'cos  I  daon't  do  just  wot  'e  likes.  They'd  'ave 
to  go.     I  tell  yer  stryte — the  Temple  wants  cleanin'  up. 

Press.  Ye-es.  If  I  wrote  what  I  thought,  I  should 
get  the  sack  as  quick  as  you.  D'you  say  that  justifies 
me  in  shedding  the  blood  of  my  bosses  ? 

Lemmy.  The  yaller  Press  'as  got  no  blood — 'as  it? 
You  shed  their  ile  an'  vinegar — that's  wot  you've  got 
to  do.  Stryte — do  yer  believe  in  the  noble  mission  o' 
the  Press? 

Press.  [Enigmatically]  Mr.  Lemmy,  I'm  a  Press- 
man. 

Lemmy.  [Goggling]  I  see.  Not  much!  [Gently  jog- 
ging his  mother  s  elbow]  Wyke  up,  old  lydy  ! 

For  Mrs.  Lemmy,  who  has  been  sipping  placidly 
at  her  port,  is  nodding.     The  evening  has 
drawn  in.    Lemmy  strikes  a  match  on  his 
trousers  and  lights  a  candle. 
Blood  an'  kindness — that's  what's  wanted — 'specially 
blood !     The  'istory  o'  me  an'  my  family'll  show  yer 
that.     Tyke  my  bruwer  Fred — crushed  by  burycrats. 
Tyke  Muvver  'erself.    Talk  o'  the  wrongs  o'  the  peo- 
ple !    I  tell  yer  the  foundytions  is  rotten.  [He  empties 
the  bottle  into  his  mother  s  mug]  Daon't  mind  the  mud 
at  the  bottom,  old  lydy — it's  all  strengthenm' !     You 
tell  the  Press,  Muvver.     She  can  talk  abaht  the  pawst. 

Press.  [Taking  up  his  note-book,  and  becoming  again 
his  professional  self]  Yes,  Mrs.  Lemmy  ?  "Age  and 
Youth — Past  and  Present " 


44  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  ii 

Mrs.  L.  Were  yu  talkin'  about  Fred?  [The  port  has 
warmed  her  veins,  the  colour  in  her  eyes  and  cheeks  has 
deepened]  My  son  Fred  was  always  a  gude  boy — never 
did  nothin'  before  'e  married.  I  can  see  Fred  [She 
bends  forward  a  little  in  her  chair,  looking  straight  before 
her]  comin'  in  wi'  a  pheasant  'e'd  found — terrible  'e 
was  at  findin'  pheasants.  When  father  died,  an'  yu 
was  comin'.  Bob,  Fred  'e  said  to  me:  "Don't  yu  never 
cry.  Mother,  I'll  look  after  'ee."  An'  so  'e  did,  till  'e 
married  that  day  six  months  an'  tuke  to  the  drink  in 
sorrer.     'E  wasn't  never  the   same   boy  again — not 

Fred.     An'  now  'e's  in  That.     I  can  see  poor  Fred 

She  slowly  wipes  a  tear  out  of  the  comer  of  an 
eye  with  the  back  of  her  finger. 

Press.  [Puzzled]  In— That. ^ 

Lemmy.  [Sotto  voce]  Come  orf  it!  Prison!  'S  wot 
she  calls  it. 

Mrs.  L.  [Cheerful]  They  say  life's  a  vale  o'  sorrows. 
Well,  so  'tes,  but  don'  du  to  let  yureself  thenk  so. 

Press.  And  so  you  came  to  London,  Mrs.  Lemmy .'' 

Mrs.  L.  Same  year  as  father  died.  With  the  four 
o'  them — that's  my  son  Fredj  an'  my  son  Jim,  an'  my 
son  Tom,  an'  Alice.  Bob  there,  'e  was  bom  in  London 
— an'  a  praaper  time  I  'ad  of  et. 

Press.  [Writing]  "Her  heroic  struggles  with  pov- 
erty  " 

Mrs.  L.  Worked  in  a  laundry,  I  ded,  at  fifteen 
shellin's  a  week,  an'  brought  'em  all  up  on  et  till  Alice 
'ad  the  gallopin'  consumption.  I  can  see  poor  Alice 
wi'  the  little  red  spots  in  'er  cheeks — an'  I  not  knowin' 


ACT  II  THE  FOUNDATIONS  45 

wot  to  du  wi'  her — but  I  always  kept  up  their  buryin' 
money.  Funerals  is  very  dear;  ]Mr.  Lemmy  was  six 
pound  ten. 

Press.  "High  price  of  'Mr.  Lemmy." 

IMrs.  L.  I've  a-got  the  money  for  when  my  time 
come;  never  touch  et,  no  matter  'ow  things  are.  Bet- 
ter a  little  goin'  short  here  below,  an'  enter  the  king- 
dom of  'eaven  independent. 

Press.  [Writing]  "Death  before  dishonour — heroine 
of  the  slums.     Dickens — Betty  Higden." 

IMrs.  L.  No,  sir.  Mary  Lemmy.  I've  seen  a-many 
die,  I  'ave;  an'  not  one  grievin*.  I  often  says  to  meself : 
[With  a  little  laugh]  "Me  dear,  when  ya  go,  ya  go 
'appy.  Don'  yu  never  fret  about  that,"  I  says.  An' 
so  I  will;  I'll  go  'appy. 

She  stays  quite  still  a  moment,  and  behind  her 
Lemmy  draws  one  finger  across  his  face. 
[Smiling]  "Yure  old  fengers'U  'ave  a  rest.     Think  o' 
that!"  I  says.     "'Twill  be  a  brave  change."     I  can 
see  myself  lyin'  there  an'  duin'  nothm'. 

Again  a  -pause,  ichile  Mrs.  Lemmy  sees  herself 
doing  nothing. 

Lemmy.  Tell  abaht  Jim,  old  lydy. 

IVIrs.  L.  My  son  Jim  'ad  a  family  o'  seven  in  six 
years.  "I  don'  know  'ow  'tes.  Mother,"  'e  used  to 
say  to  me;  "they  just  sim  to  come!"  That  was  Jim 
— never  knu  from  day  to  day  what  was  comin'. 
"Therr's  another  of  'em  dead,"  'e  used  to  say,  "'tes 
funny,  tu."  "Well,"  I  used  to  say  to  'im;  "no  won- 
der, poor  little  things,  livin'  in  they  model  dwellin's. 


46  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  ii 

Therr's  no  air  for  'em,"  I  used  to  say.  "Well,"  'e  used 
to  say,  "what  can  I  du.  Mother?  Can't  afford  to  live 
in  Park  Lane."  An'  'e  tuke  an'  went  toAmeriky. 
[Her  voice  for  the  first  time  is  truly  doleful]  An'  never 
came  back.  Fine  feller.  So  that's  my  four  sons — 
One's  dead,  an'  one's  in — That,  an'  one's  in  Ameriky, 
an'  Bob  'ere,  poor  boy,  'e  always  was  a  talker. 

LEiEMY,  who  has  re-seated  himself  in  the  win- 
doio  and  taken  up  his  fiddle,  twangs  the 
strings. 

Press.  And  now  a  few  words  about  your  work, 
Mrs.  Lemmy.^ 

^Irs.  L.  Well,  I  sews. 

Press.  [Writing]  "Sews."     Yes? 

IMrs.  L.  [Holding  up  her  unfinished  pair  of  troupers] 
I  putt  in  the  button'oles,  I  stretches  the  flies,  I  lines 
the  crutch,  I  putt  on  this  bindin',  [She  holds  up  the 
calico  that  binds  the  top]  I  sews  on  the  buttons,  I  presses 
the  seams — Tuppence  three  farthin's  the  pair. 

Press.  Twopence  three  farthings  a  pair !  Worse 
than  a  penny  a  line ! 

Mrs.  L.  In  a  gude  day  I  gets  tliru  four  pairs,  but 
they'm  gettin'  plaguey  'ard  for  my  old  fengers. 

Press.  [Writirig]  "A  monumental  figure,  on  whose 
labour  is  built  the  mighty  edifice  of  our  industrialism." 

Lemmt.  I  sy — that's  good.  Yer'll  keep  that,  won't 
yer  ? 

IMrs.  L.  I  finds  me  o^ti  cotton,  tuppence  three 
farthin's,  and  other  expension  is  a  penny  three  farthin's. 

Press.  And  are  you  an  exception,  Mrs.  Lemmy  ? 


ACT  II  THE  FOUNDATIONS  47 

Mes.  L.  \Miat's  that? 

Lemniy.  Wot  price  the  uvvers,  old  b'dy?  Is  there 
a  lot  of  yer  sewin'  yer  iingers  orf  at  tuppence  'ypenny 
the  pah-  ? 

Mrs.  L.  I  can't  tell  j'u  that.  I  never  sees  nothin' 
in  'ere.  I  pays  a  penny  to  that  little  gell  to  bring  me 
a  dozen  pair  an'  fetch  'em  back.  Poor  little  thing, 
she'm  'ardly  strong  enough  to  carry  'em.  Feel! 
They'm  very  'eavA' ! 

Press.  On  the  conscience  of  Society ! 

LEiorr.  I  sy — put  that  dahn,  won't  yer  ? 

Press.  Have  things  changed  much  since  the  war, 
IVIrs.  Lenimy.^ 

!Mrs.  L.  Cotton's  a  lot  dearer. 

Press.  All  round,  I  mean. 

IMrs.  L.  Aw  !  Yu  don'  never  get  no  change,  not  in 
my  profession.  [She  oscillates  the  trousers]  I've  a-been 
in  trousers  fifteen  year;  ever  since  I  got  tu  old  for 
laundry. 

Press.  [Writing]  "For  fifteen  years  sewn  trousers.'* 
^^^lat  would  a  good  week  be,  !Mrs.  Lemmy  ? 

'Mrs.  L.  'Tes  a  very  gude  week,  five  shellm's. 

LE^^niY.  [From  the  window]  Bloomin'  millionairess, 
Muvver.  She's  lookin'  forward  to  'eaven,  where  vey 
don't  wear  no  trahsers. 

Mrs.  L.  [With  spirit]  'Tidn'  for  me  to  zay  whether 
they  du.  An'  'tes  on'y  when  I'm  a  bit  low-sperrity- 
like  as  I  wants  to  go  therr.  'VMiat  I  am  a-lukin'  for- 
ward to,  though,  'tes  a  day  in  the  country.  I've  not 
a-had  one  since  before  the  war.     A  kind  lady  brought 


48  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  ii 

me  in  that  bit  of  'eather;  'tes  wonderful  sweet  stuff 
when  the  'oney's  in  et.  When  I  was  a  little  gell  I  used 
to  zet  in  the  'eather  gatherin'  the  whorts,  an'  me  little 
mouth  all  black  wi'  eatin'  them.  'Twas  in  the  'eather 
I  used  to  zet,  Sundays,  courtin'.  All  flesh  is  grass — 
an'  'tesn't  no  bad  thing — grass. 

Press  [Writing]  "The  old  paganism  of  the  country." 
What  is  your  view  of  life,  Mrs.  Lemmy? 

LiaiMY.  [Suddenly]  Wot  is  'er  voo  of  life.''  Shall  I 
tell  yer  mine  ?  Life's  a  disease — a  blinkin'  oak-apple  ! 
Daon't  myke  no  mistyke.  An'  'uman  life's  a  jTimour- 
ous  disease;  that's  all  the  difference.  "VMiy — wot  else 
can  it  be  ?  See  the  bloomin'  promise  an'  the  blighted 
perfonnance — different  as  a  'eadline  to  the  noos  inside. 
But  yer  couldn't  myke  Muvver  see  vat — not  if  yer 
talked  to  'er  for  a  week.  Muvver  still  believes  in  fings. 
She's  a  country  gell;  at  a  'undred  and  fifty  she'll  be  a 
country  gell,  won't  yer,  old  lydy  ? 

Mrs.  L.  Well,  'tesn't  never  been  'ome  to  me  in 
London.  I  lived  in  the  country  forty  year — I  did  my 
lovin'  there;  I  hurried  father  therr.  Therr  bain't 
nothin'  in  life,  yu  know,  but  a  bit  o'  lovin' — all  said  an' 
done;  bit  o'  lovin',  with  the  wind,  an'  the  stars  out. 

LEioiY.  [In  a  loud  apologetic  whisper]  She  'yn't  often 
like  this.     I  told  yer  she'd  got  a  glawss  o'  port  in  'er. 

Mrs.  L.  'Tes  a  brave  pleasure,  is  lovin'.  I  likes  to 
zee  et  in  young  folk.  I  likes  to  zee  'em  kissin';  shows 
the  'eart  in  'em.  'Tes  the  'eart  makes  the  world  go 
round;  'tesn't  nothin'  else,  in  my  opinion. 

Press.  [Writing]  " — sings  the  swan  song  of  the 
heart." 


ACT  II  THE  FOUNDATIONS  49 

]Mrs.  L.  [Overhearing]  No,  I  never  yeard  a  swan 
sing— never!  But  I  tell  'ee  what  I  'ave  'eard;  the 
gells  singin'  in  th'  orchard  'angin'  up  the  clothes  to 
dry,  an'  the  cuckoos  callm'  back  to  'em.  [Smiling] 
There's  a-many  songs  in  the  country — the  'eart  is  free- 
like  m  th'  country ! 

Lemmy.  [Sotto  voce]  Gi'  me  the  Strand  at  ar'  past 
nine. 

Press.  [Writing]  "Town  and  country " 

Mrs.  L.  'Tidn't  like  that  m  London;  one  day's  jest 
like  another.  Not  but  what  therr's  a  'eap  o'  kind- 
'eartedness  'ere. 

LEaniY.  [Gloomily]  Kmd-'eartedness !  I  daon't  fink ! 
"Boys  an'  gells  come  out  to  play." 

[He  plays  the  old  tune  on  his  fiddle. 

Mrs.  L.  [Singing]  "  Boys  an' gells  come  out  to  play. 
The  mune  is  shinm'  bright  as  day."  [She  laughs]  I 
used  to  sing  like  a  lark  when  I  was  a  gell. 

[Little  Aida  enters. 

L.  Aida.  There's  'undreds  foUerin'  the  corfin.  'Yn't 
you  goin',  IMr.  Lemmy — it's  dahn  your  wy  ! 

Lemmy.  [Dubiously]  Well  yus— I  s'pose  they'll  miss 
me. 

L,  Aida.  Aoh !    Tyke  me ! 

Press.  What's  this  ? 

Lemmy.  The  revolution  in  'Yde  Pawk. 

Press.  [Struck]  Li  Hyde  Park?  The  very  thing. 
I'll  take  you  down.     My  taxi's  waiting. 

L.  Aida.  Yus;  it's  breathin'  'ard,  at  the  corner. 


50  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  ii 

Press.  [Looking  at  his  watch]  Ah !  and  Mrs.  Lemmy. 
There's  an  Anti-Sweating  Meeting  going  on  at  a  house 
in  Park  Lane.  We  can  get  there  in  twenty  minutes 
if  we  shove  along.  I  want  you  to  tell  them  about  the 
trouser-making.     You'll  be  a  sensation  ! 

Lemmy.  [To  himself]  Sensytion!  'E  cawn't  keep 
orf  it ! 

Mrs.  L.  Anti-Sweat.  Poor  fellers !  I  'ad  one  come 
to  see  me  before  the  war,  an'  they'm  still  goin'  on? 
Wonderful,  an't  it.^ 

Press.  Come,  Mrs.  Lemmy;  drive  in  a  taxi,  beauti- 
ful moonlit  night;  and  they'll  give  you  a  splendid  cup 
of  tea. 

Mrs.  L.  [Unmoved]  Ah!  I  cudn't  never  du  with- 
out my  tea.  There's  not  an  avenin'  but  I  thinks  to 
meself :  Now,  me  dear,  ya've  a-got  one  more  to  fennish, 
an'  then  yu'U  'ave  yure  cup  o'  tea.  Thank  you  for 
callin',  all  the  same. 

Le:mmy.  Better  siccumb  to  the  temptytion,  old  lydy; 
joyride  wiv  the  Press;  marble  floors,  pillars  o'  gold; 
conscientious  footmen;  lovely  lydies;  scuppers  runnin' 
tea!  An'  the  revolution  goin'  on  across  the  wy. 
'Eaven's  nuffink  to  Pawk  Lyne. 

Press.  Come  along,  Mrs.  Lemmy  ! 

Mrs.  L.  [Seraphically]  Thank  yu.  I'm  a-feelin'  very 
comfortable.  'Tes  wonderful  what  a  drop  o'  wine'll 
du  for  the  stomach. 

Press.  A  taxi-ride ! 

Mrs.  L.  [Placidly]  Ah!  I  know 'em.  They'm  very 
busy  things. 


ACT  II  THE  FOUNDATIONS  51 

Lemmy.  Muvver  shuns  notority.  [Sotto  voce  to  The 
Press]  But  you  watch  me !    I'll  rouse  'er. 

He  takes  up  his  fiddle  and  sits  on  the  window 
seat.  Above  the  little  houses  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  street,  the  moon  has  risen  in  the 
dark  bliie  sky,  so  that  the  cloud  shaped  like  a 
beast  seems  leaping  over  it.  Lem^iy  plays 
the  first  notes  of  the  Marseillaise.  A  black 
cat  on  the  window-sill  outside  looks  in,  hunch- 
ing its  back.  Little  Aida  barks  at  her. 
Mrs.  Lemimy  struggles  to  her  feet,  sweeping 
the  empty  dish  and  spoon  to  the  fioor  in  the 
effort. 

The  dish  ran  avry  wiv  the  spoon !     That's  right,  old 
lydy  I  [He  stops  playing. 

INIrs.  L.  [Smilijig,  and  moving  her  Jmnds]  I  like  a 
bit  o'  music.     It  du  that  muve  'ee. 

Press.  Bravo,  Mrs.  Lemmy.     Come  on ! 

Lemiiy.  Come  on,  old  dear !  We'll  be  in  time  for 
the  revolution  yet. 

INIrs.  L.  'Tes  'earin'  the  Old  'Undred  agam ! 

Lemmy.  [To  The  Press]  She  ':sTi't  been  aht  these 
two  years.  [To  his  mother,  wJio  has  put  up  her  hands  to 
her  head]  Nao,  never  mind  yer  'at.  [To  The  Press] 
She  'jTi't  got  none !  [Aloud]  No  West-End  lydy  wears 
anj^fink  at  all  m  the  evenin' ! 

INIrs.  L.  'Ow'm  I  lukm'.  Bob? 

Lemmy.  Fust-clawss;  yer've  got  a  colour  fit  to  toast 


52  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  ii 

by.  We'll  show  'em  yer've  got  a  kick  in  yer.  [He  takes 
her  arm]  Little  Aida,  ketch  'old  o'  the  sensytions. 

[He  indicates  the  trousers. 
The  Press  takes  Mrs.  Lemmy's  other  arm. 
Mrs.  L.  [With  an  excited  little  laugh]  Quite  like  a 
geU! 

Andy  smiling  between  her  son  and  The  Press, 
she  passes  out;  Little  Aida,  with  a  fling  of 
her  heels  and  a  wave  of  the  trousers,  follows, 

CURTAIN 


ACT    III 

An  octagon  ante-room  off  the  hall  at  Lord  William 
Dromondy's.  a  shining  room  lighted  by  gold  can- 
delabra, with  gold-curtained  'pillars,  through  which 
the  shining  hall  and  a  little  of  the  grand  stairway 
are  visible.  A  small  table  icith  a  gold-coloured  cloth 
occupies  the  very  centre  of  the  room,  which  has  a 
polished  parquet  floor  and  high  white  walls.  Gold- 
coloured  doors  on  the  left.  Opposite  these  doors  a 
yyindow  with  gold-coloured  curtains  looks  out  on 
Park  Lane.  Lady  William  is  standing  restlessly 
between  the  double  doors  and  the  arch  which  leads 
to  the  hall.  James  is  stationary  by  the  double  doors, 
from  behind  which  come  sounds  of  speech  and  ap- 
plause. 

PouLDER.  [Entering  from  the  hall]  His  Grace  the 
Duke  of  Exeter,  my  lady. 

His  Grace  enters.    He  is  old,  and  youthful, 
with  a  high  colour  and  a  short  rough  white 
heard.    Lady  William  advances  to  meet  him. 
PouLDER  stands  by. 
Lady  W.  Oh !  Father,  you  are  late. 
His  G.  Awful  crowd  in  the  streets,  Nell.     TheyVe 
got  a  coflBn — couldn't  get  by. 
53 


54  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  m 

Lady  W.  Coffin?     Whose? 

His  G.  The  Government's  I  should  think — no 
flowers,  by  request.     I  say,  have  I  got  to  speak? 

Lady  W.  Oh !  no,  dear. 

His  G.  H'm!  That's  unlucky.  I've  got  it  here. 
[He  looks  down  his  cuff]  Found  something  I  said  in  1914 
— just  have  done. 

Lady  W.  Oh!  If  you've  got  it — James,  ask  Lord 
William  to  come  to  me  for  a  moment.  [James  vanishes 
through  the  door.  To  The  Duke]  Go  in,  Grand-dad; 
they'll  be  so  awfully  pleased  to  see  you.     I'll  tell  Bill. 

His  G.  Where's  Anne? 

Lady  W.  In  bed,  of  course. 

His  G.  I  got  her  this — rather  nice? 

He  has  taken  from  his  breast-pocket  one  of  those 
street  toy-men  that  jump  head  over  heels  on 
your  hand;  he  puts  it  through  its  paces. 

Lady  W.  [Much  interested]  Oh !  no,  but  how  sweet ! 
She'll  simply  love  it. 

Poulder.  If  I  might  suggest  to  Your  Grace  to  take 
it  in  and  operate  it.  It's  sweated.  Your  Grace.  They 
— er — make  them  in  those  places. 

His  G.  By  Jove!    D'you  know  the  price,  Poulder? 

Poulder.  [Interrogatively]  A  penny,  is  it?  Some- 
thing paltry.  Your  Grace ! 

His  G.  Wliere's  that  woman  who  knows  everything; 
Miss  Munday  ? 

Lady  W.  Oh !    She'll  be  in  there,  somewhere. 

His  Grace  moves  on,  and  passes  through  the 
doors.     The  sound  of  applause  is  heard. 


ACT  III  THE  FOUNDATIONS  55 

PouLDER.  [Discreetly]  Would  you  care  to  see  the 
bomb,  my  lady  ? 

Lady  W.  Of  course — first  quiet  moment. 

PouLDER.  I'll  bring  it  up,  and  have  a  watch  put  on 
it  here,  my  lady. 

Lord  Willia^i  comes  through  the  double  doors, 
foUmced  hij  J.ames.     Poulder  retires. 

Lord  W.  Can't  you  come,  Nell  ? 

L.A.DY  W.  Oh !  Bill,  your  Dad  wants  to  speak. 

Lord  W.  The  deuce  he  does— that's  bad. 

Lady  W.  Yes,  of  course,  but  you  must  let  him;  he's 
found  something  he  said  in  1914. 

Lord  W.  I  knew  it.  That's  what  they'll  say. 
Standmg  stock  still,  while  hell's  on  the  jump  around  us. 

Lady  W.  Never  mind  that;  it'll  please  him;  and 
he's  got  a  lovely  little  sweated  toy  that  turns  head  over 
heels  at  one  penny. 

Lord  W.  H'm !     \Yell,  come  on. 

Lady  W.  No,  I  must  wait  for  stragglers.  There's 
sure  to  be  an  editor  in  a  hurry. 

Poulder.  [Announcing]  Mis-ter  Gold-rum! 

Lady  ^Y.  [Sotto  voce]  And  there  he  is !  [She  advances 
to  meei  a  thiuy  straggling  man  in  eyeglasses^  who  is  smil- 
ing absently]  How  good  of  you ! 

iVlR.  G.  Thanks  awfully.  I  just— er— and  then  I'm 
afraid  I  must — er —  Things  look  very —  Thanks — 
Thanks  so  much. 

He  straggles  through  the  doors,  and  is  enclosed 
by  Jambs. 
Poulder.  Miss  Mun-day. 


56  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  hi 

Lady  W.  There!    I  thought  she  was  in She 

really  is  the  most  unexpected  woman!  How  do  you 
do  ?    How  awfully  sweet  of  you ! 

Miss  M.  [An  elderly  female  schoolboy]  How  do  you 
do?  There's  a  spiflSng  crowd.  I  believe  things  are 
really  going  Bolshy.  How  do  you  do.  Lord  William  ? 
Have  you  got  any  of  our  people  to  show  ?  I  told  one 
or  two,  in  case — they  do  so  simply  love  an  outing. 

James.  There  are  three  old  chips  in  the  lobby,  my 
Lord. 

Lord  W.  What.''  Oh!  I  say!  Bring  them  in  at 
once.     Why — they're  the  hub  of  the  whole  thing. 

James.  [Going]  Very  good,  my  Lord. 

Lady  W.  I  am  sorry.  I'd  no  notion;  and  they're 
such  dears  always. 

Miss  M.  I  must  tell  you  what  one  of  them  said  to 
me.  I'd  told  him  not  to  use  such  bad  language  to  his 
wife.  "Don't  you  worry.  Ma !"  he  said,  "I  expect  you 
can  do  a  bit  of  that  yourself !" 

Lady  W.  How  awfully  nice !    It's  so  like  them. 

Miss  M.  Yes.     They're  wonderful. 

Lord  W.  I  say,  why  do  we  always  call  them  they? 

Lady  W.  [Puzzled]  Well,  why  not? 

Lord  W.  They  I 

Miss  M.  [Strv/;k]  Quite  right,  Lord  William  !  Quite 
right!  Another  species.  They!  I  must  remember 
that.     They  I  [She  passes  on. 

Lady  W.  [AbaiU  to  follow]  Well,  I  don't  see;  aren't 
they? 


ACT  III  THE  FOUNDATIONS  57 

Lord  W.  Never  mind,  old  girl;  follow  on.  They'll 
come  in  with  me. 

Miss    Muxday    and    Lady    Williasi    'pass 
through  the  double  doors. 
PouLDER.  [Anrwuncing]  Some  sweated  workers,  my 
Lord. 

There  enter  a  tall,  thin,  oldish  woman  ;  a  short, 
thin,  very  lame  man,  her  husband  ;  and  a 
stoutish  middle-aged  icoman  with  a  rolling 
eye  and  gait,  all  very  poorly  dressed,  with 
lined  and  heated  faces. 

Lord  W.  [SJmking  hands]  How  d'you  do !  De- 
lighted to  see  you  all.  It's  awfully  good  of  you  to 
have  come. 

L.a:vie  M.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tomson.  We  'ad  some 
trouble  to  find  it.  You  see,  I've  never  been  in  these 
parts.  We  'ad  to  come  in  the  oven;  and  the  bus-bloke 
put  us  dahn  ^Tong.     Are  you  the  proprietor  .^ 

Lord  W.  [Modestly]  Yes,  I— er 

Lame  M.  You've  got  a  nice  plyce.  I  says  to  the 
missis,  I  says:  *"E's  got  a  nice  plyce  'ere,"  I  says; 
"there's  room  to  turn  rahnd." 

Lord  W.  Yes— shall  we .? 

La3ie  M.  An'  Mrs.  Anna  way  she  says:  "Shouldn't 
mind  Hvlq'  'ere  meself,"  she  says;  "but  it  must  cost  'im 
a  tidy  penny,"  she  says. 

Lord  W.  It  does — it  does;  much  too  tidv.     Shall 


Mrs.  Ann.  [Rolling  her  eye]  I'm  very  pleased  to 


58  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  iii 

'ave  come.     I've  often  said  to  'em:  "Any  time  you 
want  me,"  I've  said,  *'I'd  be  pleased  to  come." 
LoKD  W.  Not  so  pleased  as  we  are  to  see  you. 
Mbs.  Ann.  I'm  sure  you're  very  kind. 
James.  [From  the  double  doors,  through  which  he  has 
received  a  message]  Wanted  for  your  speech,  my  Lord. 
Lord  W.  Oh!   God!    Poulder,   bring   these   ladies 
and  gentleman  in,  and  put  them  where  everybody  can 
— where  they  can  see  everybody,  don't  you  know. 

[He  goes  out  hurriedly  through  the  double  doors. 
Lame  M.  Is  'e  a  lord  ? 
Poulder.  He  is.     Follow  me. 

He  moves  towards  the  doors,  the  three  workers 

follow. 

Mrs.  Ann.  [Stojpping  before  James]  You  'jTi't  one, 

I  suppose?  [James  stirs  no  muscle. 

Poulder.  Now   please.  [He  opens   the  doors.     The 

voice  of  Lord  Willl^m  speaking  is  heard]  Pass  in. 

The  Three  Workers  pass  in,  Poulder  and 
James /o//oir  them.     The  doors  are  not  closed, 
and  through  this  aperture  comes  the  voice  of 
Lord  Willl\m,  punctuated  and  supported 
by  decorous  applause. 
Little  Anne  runs  in,  and  listens  at  the  win- 
dow to  the  confused  and  distant  murmurs 
of  a  crowd. 
Voice  of  Lord  W.  We  propose  to  move  for  a  fur- 
ther advance  in  the  chain-making  and — er — er — match- 
box industries.  [Applause. 
Little  Anne  runs  across  to  the  door,  to  listen. 


ACT  III 


THE  FOUNDATIONS 


59 


[On  rising  voic£]  I  would  conclude  with  some  genera! 
remarks.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  great  natural, 
but — er — artificial  expansion  which  trade  experienced 
the  first  years  after  the  war  has — er — collapsed.  These 
are  hard  times.  We  who  are  fortunate  feel  more  than 
ever — er — responsible — [He  stammers,  loses  the  thread 
of  his  thoughts.  —  Applause]  —  er — responsible — [The 
thread  still  eludes  him] — er 

L.  Anne.  [PoigTiantly]  Oh,  Daddy ! 

Lord  W.  [Desperately]  In  fact — er — you  know  how 
— er — responsible  we  feel. 

L.  Anne.  Hooray!  [Applause, 

There  float  in  through  the  tcindows  the  hoarse 
and  distant  sounds  of  the  Marseillaise^  as 
sung  hy  London  voices. 

Lord  W.  There  is  a  feeling  in  the  air — that  I  for 
one  should  say  dehberately  was — er — a  feeling  in  the 
air — er — a  feeling  in  the  air 

L.  Anne.  [Agonized]  Oh,  Daddy !    Stop  ! 

[James  enters,  and  closes  the  door  behind  him, 

James.  Look  here !  'Ave  I  got  to  report  you  to 
Miss  Stokes  .^ 

L.  Anne.  No-o-o  ! 

James.  Well,  I'm  gom'  to. 

L.  Anne.  Oh,  James,  be  a  friend  to  me !  I've  seen 
nothing  yet. 

James.  No;  but  you've  eaten  a  good  bit,  on  the 
stairs.     What  price  that  Peach  Melba .' 

L.  Anne.  I  can't  go  to  bed  till  I've  digested  it — 
can  I  ?    There's  such  a  lovely  crowd  in  the  street ! 


60  THE  FOUNDATIONS         act  hi 

James.  Lovely?    Ho! 

L.  Anne.  [Wheedling]  James,  you  couldn't  tell  Miss 
Stokes!     It  isn't  m  you,  is  it.^ 
James.  [Grinning]  That's  right. 
L.  Anne.  So— I'll   just   get   under   here.  [She  gets 
under  the  table]  Do  I  show  ? 
James.  [Stooping]  Not  'arf ! 

[PouLDER  enters  from  the  hall. 
PouLDER.  AMiat  are  you  doin'  there  ? 
James.  [Between  him  and  the  table — raising  himself] 
Thinkm'. 

PouLDER  purses  his  moulh  to  repress  his  feel- 
ings. 
PouLDER.  My  orders  are  to  fetch  the  bomb  up  here 
for  Lady   William   to   inspect.     Take  care  no  more 
writers  stray  in. 

James.  How  shall  I  know  'em  ? 
PouLDER.  Well — either  very  bald  or  very  hairy. 
James.  Right-o  !  [Ee  goes. 

PouLDER,  with  his  hack  to  the  table,   busies 
himself  vnth  the  set  of  his  collar. 
PouLDEB.  [Addressing  an  imaginary  audience — in  a 
low  but  important  voice]  The — ah— situation  is  seerious. 

It  is  up  to  us  of  the — ah — leisured  classes 

The  face  of  Little  Anne  is  poked  out  close  to 
his  legs,  and  tiUs  upwards  in  wonder  towards 
the  bow  of  his  waistcoat. 
to— ah — keep  the  people  down.     The  olla  polloi  are 

clamourin' 

Miss  Stokes  appears  from  the  haU,  betu?een 
the  pillars. 


ACT  III  THE  FOUNDATIONS  61 

Miss  S.  Poulder ! 

PouLDER.  [Making  a  volte  face  towards  the  table] 
Miss? 

Miss  S.  "VMiere  is  Anne? 

Poulder.  [Vexed  at  the  disturbance  of  his  speech]  Ex- 
cuse me,  Miss — to  keep  track  of  Miss  Anne  is  fortu- 
nately no  part  of  my  dooties. 

Miss  S.  She  really  is  naughty. 

Poulder.  She  is.    K  she  was  mine,  I'd  spank  her. 
The  smiling  face  of  Little  Anne  becomes  visi- 
ble again  close  to  his  legs. 

Miss  S.  Not  a  nice  word. 

Poulder.  No;  but  a  pleasant  haction.  Miss  Anne's 
the  limit.  In  fact,  Lord  and  Lady  "William  are  much 
too  kind-'earted  all  round.  Take  these  sweated  work- 
ers; that  class  o'  people  are  quite  'opeless.  Treatin' 
them  as  your  equals,  shakin'  'ands  with  'em,  givin'  'em 
tea — it  only  puffs  'em  out.  Leave  it  to  the  Church, 
I  say. 

Miss  S.  The  Church  is  too  busy,  Poulder. 

Poulder.  Ah!  That  "Purity  an'  Future  o'  the 
Race  Campaign."  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think's  the  dan- 
ger o'  that.  Miss.  So  much  purity  that  there  won't 
be  a  future  race.  [Expanding]  Purity  of  'eart's  an  ex- 
cellent thing,  no  doubt,  but  there's  a  want  of  nature 
about  it.  Same  with  this  Anti-Sweatmg.  Unless 
you're  anxious  to  come  down,  you  must  not  put  the  * 
lower  classes  up. 

Miss  S.  I  don't  agree  with  you  at  all,  Poulder. 

Poulder.  Ah!  You  want  it  both  ways,  Miss,  I 
should  imagine  you're  a  Liberal. 


62  THE  FOUNDATIONS         act  iii 

Miss  S.  [Horrified\  Oh,  no !  I  certainly  am  not. 
PoxjLDER.  Well,  I  judged  from  your  takin'  cocoa. 
Funny  thing  that,  about  cocoa — how  it  still  runs 
through  the  Liberal  Party !  It's  virtuous,  I  suppose. 
Wine,  beer,  tea,  coffee — all  of  'em  vices.  But  cocoa — 
you  might  drink  a  gallon  a  day  and  annoy  no  one  but 
yourself !  There's  a  lot  o'  deep  things  in  life.  Miss ! 
Miss  S.  Quite  so.     But  I  must  find  Anne. 

[She  recedes. 
PouLDER.  [Suavely]  Well,  I  wish  you  every  success; 
and  I  hope  you'll  spank  her.     This  modern  education 
— there's  no  fruitiness  in  it. 

L.  Anne.  [From  under  the  table]  Poulder,  are  you 
virtuous  ? 
Poulder.  [Jumping]  Good  Ged ! 
L.  Anne.  D'you    mind    my    asking.?    I    promised 
James  I  would. 
Poulder.  Miss  Anne,  come  out! 

[The  four  footmen  appear  in  the  hally  Henry 

carrying  the  mine  cooler, 

James.  Form  fours — by  your  right — quick  march! 

[They  enter,  marching  down  right  of  table. 

Right  mcline— Mark  time !    Left  turn !     'Alt !    'Enry, 

set  the  bomb !    Stand  easy ! 

Henry  places  the  wine  cooler  on  the  table  and 

covers  it  with  a  blue  embroidered  Chinese  mat, 

which  has  occupied  the  centre  of  the  tablecloth. 

Poulder.  Ah !   You  will  'ave  your  game !   Thomas, 

take  the  door  there!    James,  the  'all!    Admit  titles 


ACT  III  THE  FOUNDATIONS  63 

an'  bishops.     No  literary  or  Labour  people.     Charles 
and  'Enry,  'op  it  and  'ang  about ! 

Charles  and  Hexry  go  out,  the  other  too 

move  to  their  staiions. 
PouLDER  stands  by  the  table  looking  at  the 
covered  bomb.     The  hoarse  and  distant  sounds 
of  the  Marseiilaise  float  in  again  from  Park 
Lane. 
[Moved  by  some  deep  feeling]  And  this  house  an  'orspi- 
tal  in  the  war !    I  ask  you — what  was  the  good  of  all 
our  sacrifices  for  the  country  ?     No  town  'ouse  for  four 
seasons — rustygettin'  in  the  shires,  not  a  soul  but  two 
boys  under  me.     Lord  William  at  the  front,  Lady  Wil- 
liam at  the  back.     And  all  for  this!  [He  points  sadly 
at  the  cooler]  It  comes  of  meddlin'  on  the  Continent. 
I  had  my  prognostications  at  the  time.  [ToJajmes]  You 
remember  my  sayin'  to  you  just  before  you  joined  up: 
"Mark  my  words — we  shall  see  eight  per  cent,  for  our 
money  before  this  is  over!" 

Jajies.  [Sepidchrally]  I  see  the  eight  per  cent.,  but 
not  the  money. 

Poulder.  Hark  at  that ! 

The  sounds  of  the  Marseillaise  grow  louder. 
He  shakes  his  head. 

I'd  read  the  Riot  Act.     They'll  be  lootin'  this  house 
neirt! 

James.  We'll  put  up  a  fight  over  your  body:  "Bar- 
tholomew Poulder,  faithful  unto  death!"  Have  you 
insured  your  life  ? 


64  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  hi 

PoULDER.  Against  a  revolution  ? 

James.  Act  o'  God !    ^Yhy  not? 

PouLDER.  It's  not  an  act  o'  God. 

Ja^ies.  It  is;  and  I  sympathise  with  it. 

PouLDER.  You — what? 

James.  I  do — only — hands  off  the  gov'nor. 

PouLDER.  Oh!  Reelly!  Well,  that's  something. 
I'm  glad  to  see  you  stand  behind  him>  at  all  events. 

James.  I  stand  in  front  of  'im  when  the  scrap  begins ! 

PouLDER.  Do  you  insinuate  that  my  heart's  not  in 
the  right  place  ? 

James.  Well,  look  at  it!  It's  been  creepin*  down 
ever  smce  I  knew  you.  Talk  of  your  sacrifices  in  the 
war — they  put  you  on  your  honour,  and  you  got  stout 
on  it.     Rations — not  'arf ! 

PouLDER.  [Staring  at  him]  For  independence,  I've 
never  seen  your  equal,  James.  You  might  be  an  Aus- 
tralian ! 

James.  [Stiavely]  Keep  a  civil  tongue,  or  I'll  throw 
you  to  the  crowd  !  [He  comes  fonoard  to  tlie  table]  Shall 
I  tell  you  why  I  favomr  the  gov'nor  ?  Because,  with  all 
his  pomp,  he's  a  gentleman,  as  much  as  I  am.  Never 
asks  you  to  do  what  he  wouldn't  do  himself.  What's 
more,  he  never  comes  it  over  you.  If  you  get  drunk, 
or — well,  you  understand  me,  Poulder — he'll  just  say: 
"Yes,  yes;  I  know,  James !"  till  he  makes  you  feel  he's 
done  it  himself.  [Sinking  his  voice  mysteriously]  I've 
had  experience  with  him,  in  the  war  and  out.  WTiy ! 
he  didn't  even  hate  the  Huns,  not  as  he  ought.  I  tell 
you  he's  no  Christian. 


ACT  III  THE  FOUNDATIONS  65 

PouLDER.  Well,  for  irreverence ! 

Jaaies.  [Obstinately]  And  he'll  never  be.     He's  got 
too  soft  a  heart. 

L.  Anne.  [Beneath  the  table — shrilly]  Hurrah ! 

PouLDER.  [Jumping]  Come  out,  Miss  Anne ! 

James.  Let  'er  alone ! 

PouLDER.  In  there,  under  the  bomb.'' 

James.  [Contemptuoudy]  Silly  ass !    You  should  take 
'em  lying  dowTi ! 

PouLDER.  Look  here,  James !    I  can't  go  on  in  this 
revolutionary  spirit;  either  you  or  I  resign. 

James.  Crisis  in  the  Cabinet! 

PouLDER.  I  give  you  your  marchin'  orders. 

James.  [Ineffably]  ^Vhat's  that  you  give  me.^ 

Po^TLDER.  Thomas,  remove  James! 

[Thomas  grins. 

L.  Anne.  [Who,  with  open  mouthy  has  crept  out  to 
see  the  fun]  Oh !    Do  remove  James,  Thomas  ! 
PouLDER.  Go  on,  Thomas ! 

Thomas  takes  one  step  towards  James,  who  lays 
a  hand  on  the  Chinese  mat  covering  the  hornb. 

James.  [Grimly]  If  I  lose  control  of  meself 

L.  Anne.  [Clapping  her  hands]  Oh !  James !    Do  lose 
control !    Then  I  shall  see  it  go  off ! 

James.  [To  Poulder]  Well,  I'll  merely  empty  the 
pail  over  you ! 

PouLDEB.  This  is  not  becomin' ! 

[He  walks  out  into  the  hall. 


66  THE  FOUNDATIONS         act  hi 

James.  Another  strategic  victory!  What  a  Boche 
he'd  have  made.     As  you  were,  Tommy ! 

Thomas  returns  to  the  door.     The  sound  of 
prolonged  applause  comes  from  within. 
That's  a  bishop. 
L.  Anne.  Why.? 

James.  By  the  way  he's  drawin'.  It's  the  fine 
fightin'  spirit  m  'em.  They  were  the  backbone  o'  the 
war.  I  see  there's  a  bit  o'  the  old  stuff  left  m  you, 
Tommy. 

L.  Anne.  [Scrutinizing  the  vMely-grinning  Thomas] 
Where?     Is  it  in  his  mouth.? 

James.  You've  still  got  a  sense  of  your  superiors. 
Didn't  you  notice  how  you  moved  to  Poulder's  orders, 
me  boy;  an'  when  he  was  gone,  to  mine  ? 
L.  Anne.  [To  Thomas]  March! 

[The  grinning  Thomas  remains  immovable. 
He  doesn't,  James ! 

James.  Look  here.  Miss  Anne — your  lights  ought  to 
be  out  before  ten.     Close  in.  Tommy ! 

[He  and  Thomas  move  towards  her. 
L.  Anne.  [Dodging]  Oh,  no !    Oh,  no !    Look ! 

The  footmen  stop  and  turn.     There  between  the 
pillars  stands  Little  Aida  with  the  trousers, 
her  face  brilliant  with  surprise, 
James.  Good  Lord !    What's  this  ? 

Seeing  Little  Anne,  Little  Aida  approaches, 
fascinated,  and  the  two  children  sniff  at  each 
other  as  it  were  like  two  little  dogs  walking 
round  and  round. 


ACT  III  THE  FOUNDATIONS  67 

L.  Anne.  [Suddenly]  My  name's  Anne;  what's 
yours  ? 

L.  AiDA.  Aida. 

L.  Anne,  Are  you  lost  ? 

L.  Aida.  Nao. 

L.  Anne.  Are  those  trousers? 

L.  Aida.  Yus. 

L.  Anne.  WTiose? 

L.  Aida.  Mrs.  Lemmy's. 

L.  Anne.  Does  she  wear  them  ? 

[Little  Aida  smiles  brilliantly. 

L.  Aida.  Nao.    She  sews  'em. 

L.  Anne.  [Touching  the  trousers]  They  are  hard. 
James's  are  much  softer;  aren't  they,  James  .^  [James 
deigns  no  reply]  What  shall  we  do.'*  Would  you  like 
to  see  my  bedroom  ? 

L.  Aida.  [With  a  hoy]  Aoh,  yus ! 

James.  No. 

L.  Anne.  WTiy  not.^ 

James.  Have  some  sense  of  what's  fittin'. 

L.  Anne.  Why  isn't  it  fittin'?  [To  Little  Aida] 
Do  you  like  me? 

L.  Aida.  Yus-s. 

L.  Anne.  So  do  I.    Come  on ! 

[She  takes  Little  Aida's  hand. 

James.  [Between   the   pillars]  Tommy,    ketch    'em ! 
[Thomas  retains  them  by  the  skirts. 

L.  Anne.  [Feigning  indifference]  All  right,  then! 
[To  Little  Aida]  Have  you  ever  seen  a  bomb? 

L.  Aida.  Nao. 


I 


68  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  m 

L.  Anne.  [Going  to  the  table  and  lifting  a  corner  of 
the  cover]  Look ! 

L.  AiDA.  [Looking]  What's  it  for? 

L.  Anne.  To  blow  up  this  house. 

L.  AiDA.  I  daon't  fink ! 

L.  Anne.  Why  not? 

L.  AiDA.  It's  a  beautiful  big  'ouse. 

L.  Anne.  That's  why.    Isn't  it,  James? 

L.  AiDA.  You  give  the  fing  to  me;  I'll  blow  up  our 
'ouse — it's  an  ugly  little  'ouse. 

L.  Anne.  [Struck]  Let's  all  blow  up  our  own;  then 
we  can  start  fair.     Daddy  would  like  that. 

L.  AiDA.  Yus.  [Suddenly  brilliant]  I've  'ad  a  ride  in 
a  taxi,  an'  we're  goin'  'ome  in  it  agyne ! 

L.  Anne.  Were  you  sick  ? 

Little  Aida.  [Brilliant]  Nao. 

L.  Anne.  I  was,  when  I  first  went  in  one,  but  I  was 
quite  young  then.  James,  could  you  get  her  a  Peche 
Melba  ?    There  was  one. 

James.  No. 

L.  Anne.  Have  you  seen  the  revolution  ? 

L.  Aida.  Wot's  that? 

L.  Anne.  It's  made  of  people. 

L.  Aida.  I've  seen  the  corfin,  it's  myde  o'  wood. 

L.  Anne.  Do  you  hate  the  rich  ? 

L.  Aida.  [Ineffably]  Nao.    I  hates  the  poor. 

L.  Anne.  Why? 

L.  Aida.  'Cos  they  'yn't  got  nuffin'. 

L.  Anne.  I  love  the  poor.     They're  such  dears. 

L.  Aida.  [Shaking  her  head  with  a  broad  smile]  Nao. 


ACT  III  THE  FOUNDATIONS  69 

L.  Anne.  "VMiy  not  ? 

L.  AiDA.  I'd  tyke  and  Lose  the  lot,  I  would. 

L.  Anne.  Where.'* 

L.  AiDA.  In  the  water. 

L.  AxxE.  Like  puppies.? 

L.  AiDA.  Yus. 

L.  Anne.  WTiy? 

L.  AiDA.  Then  I'd  be  shut  of  *em. 

L.  Anne.  [Puzzled]  Oh ! 

The  voice  of  The  Press  is  heard  in  the  hall. 
''Where's  the  little  girlP" 
James.  That's  you.     Come  'ere ! 

He  puts  a  hand  behind  Little  Aida's  hack 

and  propels  her  towards  the  hall.     The  Press 

enters  with  old  Mrs.  Lemmy. 

Press.  Oh!    Here  she  is,  major  domo.     I'm  going 

to  take  this  old  lady  to  the  meeting;  they  want  her  on 

the  platform.     Look  after   our   friend,  Mr.   Lemmy 

here;  Lord  William  wants  to  see  him  presently. 

L.  Anne.  [7m  an  awed  whisper]  James,  it's  the  little 
blighter ! 

She  dives  again  under  the  table.     Lemmy  enters. 
LEMirr.  'Ere !    'Arf  a  mo' !    Yer  said  yer'd  drop 
me  at  my  plyce.     Well,  I  tell  yer  candid — this  'jm't 
my  plyce ! 

Press.  That's  all  right,  Mr.  Lemmy.  [He  grins] 
They'll  make  you  wonderfully  comfortable,  won't  you, 
major  domo  ? 

He  passes  on  throicgh  the  room,  to  the  door, 
itshering  old  Mrs.  Lemmy  and  Little  Aida. 


70  THE  FOUNDATIONS         act  hi 

PouLDER  bhcks  Lemmy's  tDapi  with  Chables 
and  Henry  behind  him. 
PouiiDER.  James,  watch  it;  I'll  report. 

He  moves  away,  folloicing  The  Press  through 
the  door.     James  between  table  and  window. 
Thomas  has  gone  to  the  door.    Henry  and 
Charles  remain  at  the  entrances  to  the  hall. 
Lemmy  looks  dubiously  around,  his  cockney 
assurance  gradually  returns. 
LEirMT.  I  think  I  knows  the  gas  'ere.    This  is  where 
I  came  to-dy,  'jTi't  it?    Excuse  my  hesitytion — these 
little  'ouses  is  so  much  the  syme  ! 
James.  [Gloomily]  They  are ! 

LEiiMY.  {Looking  at  the  four  immovable  footmen,  till 
he  concentrates  on  James]  Ah !  I  'ad  a  word  wiv  you, 
'adn't  I.'^  You're  the  four  conscientious  ones  wot's 
wyin'  on  your  gov'nor's  chest.  'Twas  you  I  spoke  to, 
wasn't  it?  [His  eyes  travel  over  them  again]  Ye're  so 
monotonous.  Well,  ye're  busy  now,  I  see.  I  won't 
wyste  yer  time. 

He  turns  towards  the  hall,  hut  Charles  and 
Henry  bar  the  way  in  silence. 
[Skidding  a  little,  and  regarding  the  four  immovables  once 
more]  I  never  see  such  pytient  men?     Compared  wiv 
yer,  mountains  is  restless ! 

He  goes  to   the   table.    James   watches   him. 

Anne  barks  from  underneath. 

[Skidding  again]  Why!    There's  a  dawg  under  there. 

[Noting  the  grin  on  Thomas's  face]  Glad  it  amooses 

yer.     Yer  want  it,  daon't  yer,  wiv  a  fyce  like  that? 


ACT  in  THE  FOUNDATIONS  71 

Is  this  a  ply  wivaht  words  ?  *Ave  I  got  into  the  movies 
by  mistyke?  Turn  aht,  an'  let's  'ave  six  penn'orth  o' 
darkness. 
L.  Anne.  [From  beneath  the  table]  No,  no  f  Not  dark ! 
LENnrr.  [Musingly]  The  dawg  talks  anywy.  Come 
aht,  Fido ! 

Little  Anne  emerges,  and  regards  him  with 
burning  curiosity. 
I  sy :  Is  this  the  hlest  fashion  o'  receivin'  guests  ? 

L.  Anne.  Mother  always  wants  people  to  feel  at 
home.     ^Miat  shall  we  do?     Would  you  like  to  hear 
the  speeches  ?    Thomas,  open  the  door  a  little,  do  ! 
James.  'Umour  'er  a  couple  o'  inches,  Tommy ! 

Thomas  draws  the  door  back  stealthily  an  inch 
or  so. 
L.  Anne.  [After  applying  her  eye — in  a  loud  whisper] 
There's  the  old  lady.     Daddy's  looking  at  her  trousers. 
Listen! 

For  Mrs.  Lemmy's  voice  is  floating  faindy 
through:  ''I  putt  in  the  buttonholes,  I  stretches 
the  flies  ;  I  'enis  the  bottoms  ;  I  lines  the 
crutch  ;  I  putt  on  this  bindin'  ;  I  sews  on  the 
buttons ;  I  presses  the  seams  —  Tuppence 
three  farthins  the  pair. 
Lemmt.  [In  a  hoarse  whisper]  That's  it,  old  lydy: 
give  it  'em ! 
L.  Anne.  Listen! 

Voice  of  Lord  W.  We  are  indebted  to  our  friends 
the  Press  for  giving  us  the  pleasure — er — pleasure  of 
hearing  from  her  own  lips — the  pleasure 


72  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  iii 

L.  Anne.  Oh!  Daddy! 

[Thomas  abruptly  closes  the  doors. 

Lemmy.  [To  Anne]  Now  yer've  done  it.  See  wot 
comes  o'  bein'  impytient.  We  was  just  gettin'  to  the 
marrer. 

L.  Anne.  AYhat  can  we  do  for  you  now  ? 

Lemmy.  [Pointing  to  Anne,  and  addressing  James] 
Wot  is  this  one,  anj'wy  ? 

James.  [Sejmlchrally]  Daughter  o'  the  house. 

Lemmy.  Is  she  insured  agjTist  'er  own  curiosity? 

L.  Anne.  "VMiy.^ 

Lemmy.  As  I  daon't  believe  in  a  life  beyond  the 
gryve,  I  might  be  tempted  to  send  yer  there. 

L.  Anne.  "VMiat  is  the  gryve.? 

Lemmy.  Where  little  gells  goes  to. 

L.  Anne.  Oh,  when? 

Lemmy.  [Pretending  to  look  at  a  watch,  which  is  not 
there]  W^ell,  I  dunno  if  I've  got  time  to  finish  yer  this 
minute.     Sy  to-morrer  at  'arf  past. 

L.  Anne.  Half  past  what  ? 

Lemmy.  [Despairingly]  'Arf  past  wot ! 

[The  sound  of  applause  is  heard. 

James.  That's  'is  Grace.    'E's  gettin'  wickets,  too. 
[PouLDER  entering  from  the  door. 

PouLDER.  Lord  William  is  slippin'  in. 

He  makes  a  cabalistic  sign  loith  his  head. 
James  crosses  to  the  door.  LEM\r3r  looks 
dubiously  at  Poxtldeb. 


ACT  III  THE  FOUNDATIONS  73 

Lemmt.  [Suddenly — as  to  himself]  Wot  oh !  I  am 
the  portly  one ! 

PouLDER.  [Severely]  Any  such  allusion  aggeravates 
your  offence. 

Lemmy.  Oh,  ah !  Look  'ere,  it  was  a  corked  bottle. 
Now,  tyke  care,  tyke  care,  'aughty !  Daon't  curl  yer 
lip !  I  shall  myke  a  clean  breast  o*  my  betryal  when 
the  time  comes ! 

There  is  a  slight  movement  of  the  door.     Axne 
makes  a  dive  towards  the  table  but  is  arrested 
by  PouLDER  grasping  her  waistband.     Lord 
William  slips  in,  foUmced  by  The  Press, 
on  whom  Jaiies  and  Tho^lis  close  the  door 
too  soon. 
Half  of  the  Press.  [Indignantly]  Look  out ! 
LoiES.  Do  you  want  him  in  or  out,  me  Lord  ? 
LEicnY.  I   sy,    you've    divided    the    Press;    'e   was 
unanimous. 

[The  Footmen  let  The  Press  through. 
Lord  W.  [To  The  Press]  I'm  so  sorry. 
Lemmy.  Would  yer  like  me  to  see  to  'is  gas.^ 
Lord  W.  So  you're  my  friend  of  the  cellars  ? 
LEMiiY.  [Uneasy]  I  daon't  deny  it. 

[PouLDER  begins  removing  Little  Axne. 
L.  Axxe.  Let  me  stay.  Daddy;  I  haven't  seen  any- 
thing yet!     If  I  go,  I  shall  only  have  to  come  down 
again  when  they  loot  the  house.     Listen ! 

The  hoarse  strains  of  the  Marseillaise  are  again 
heard  from  the  distance. 
Lord  W.  [Blandly]  Take  her  up,  Poulder ! 


74  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  hi 

L.  Anne.  Well,  I'm  coming  down  again — and  next 
time  I  shan't  have  any  clothes  on,  you  know. 

They  vanish  between  the  pillars.  Lord  Wil- 
liam makes  a  sign  of  dismissal.  The  Foot- 
men file  out. 

Lemmy.  [Admiringly]  Luv'ly  pyces ! 

Lord  W.  [Pleasantly]  Now  then;  let's  have  our  talk, 
Mr. 

Lemmy.  Lemmy. 

Press.  [Who  has  slipped  his  note-hook  out]  "Bombed 
and  Bomber  face  to  face " 

Lemmy.  [Uneasy]  I  didn't  come  'ere  agyne  on  me 
own,  yer  know.     The  Press  betryed  me. 

Lord  W.  Is  that  old  lady  your  mother  ? 

Lemmy.  The  syme.  I  tell  yer  stryte,  it  was  for  'er 
I  took  that  old  bottle  o'  port.     It  was  orful  old. 

Lord  W.  Ah!  Port?  Probably  the  '63.  Hope 
you  both  enjoyed  it. 

Lemmy.  So  far — yus.  Muwer'll  suffer  a  bit  to- 
morrer,  I  expect. 

Lord  W.  I  should  like  to  do  something  for  your 
mother,  if  you'll  allow  me. 

Lemmy.  Oh!  I'll  allow  yer.  But  I  dunno  wot 
she'll  sy. 

Lord  W.  I  can  see  she's  a  fine  independent  old 
lady !  But  suppose  you  were  to  pay  her  ten  bob  a 
week,  and  keep  my  name  out  of  it.^ 

Lemmy.  Well,  that's  one  wy  o'  you  doin'  somefink, 
'yn't  it? 

Lord  W.  I  giving  you  the  money,  of  course. 


ACT  III  THE  FOUNDATIONS  75 

Press.  [Writing]  "Lord  William,  with  kingly  gen- 
erosity  " 

Lemmt.  [Drawing  attention  to  The  Press  with  his 
thumb]  I  sy — I  daon't  mind,  meself — if  you  daon't 

Lord  W.  He  won't  write  anything  to  annoy  me. 

Press.  This  is  the  big  thing,  Lord  William;  it'll  get 
the  public  bang  in  the  throat. 

Lemmy.  [Confidentially]  Bit  dyngerous,  '\Ti't  it?— 
trustin'  the  Press  .^  Their  right  'ands  never  knows 
wot  their  left  'ands  is  writin'.  [To  The  Press]  'Yn't 
that  true,  speakin'  as  a  man  ? 

Press.  ]NL'.  Lemmy,  even  the  Press  is  capable  of 
gratitude. 

Lem^iy.  Is  it.'  I  should  ha'  thought  it  was  too  im- 
portant for  a  little  thmg  like  that.  [To  Lord  Willl^m] 
But  ye're  quite  right;  we  couldn't  do  wivaht  the  Press 
— there  wouldn't  be  no  distress,  no  corfin,  no  revolu- 
tion— 'cos  nobody'd  know  nuffin'  abaht  it.  WTiy! 
There  wouldn't  be  no  life  at  all  on  Earf  in  these  dyes, 
wivaht  the  Press !  It's  them  wot  says:  "Let  there  be 
Light — an'  there  is  Light." 

Lord  W.  Umm!  That's  rather  a  new  thought  to 
me.  [Writes  on  his  cuff.] 

LEinrY.  But  abaht  Muvver,  I'll  teU  yer  'ow  we  can 
arrjTige.  You  send  'er  the  ten  bob  a  week  wivaht 
s\dn'  anj^fink,  an'  she'll  fink  it  comes  from  Gawd  or  the 
Gover'ment — yer  ca^Ti't  tell  one  from  t'other  m  Befnal 
Green. 

Lord  W.  All  right;  we'll  do  that. 


76  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  m 

Lemmt.  Will  yer  reely  ?  I'd  like  to  shyke  yer  'and. 
Lord  William  puts  out  his  hand,  which 
Leseviy  grasps. 

Press.  [Writing]  "The  heart-beat  of  humanity  was 
in  that  grasp  between  the  son  of  toil  and  the  son  of 
leisure." 

Lemmy.  [Already  ashamed  of  his  emotion]  'Ere,  'arf 
a  mo'!  Which  is  which .^  Daon't  forget  I'm  aht  o' 
work;  Lord  William,  if  that's  'is  nyme,  is  workin'  'ard 
at  'is  Anti-Sweats !  Wish  I  could  get  a  job  like  vat — 
jist  suit  me ! 

Lord  W.  That  hits  hard,  Mr.  Lemmy ! 

Lemmy.  Daon't  worry !  Yer  cawn't  'elp  bein'  born 
in  the  purple ! 

Lord  W.  Ah !  Tell  me,  what  would  you  do  in  my 
place  ? 

Lemmy.  Why — as  the  nobleman  said  in  'is  well- 
known  wy:  "Sit  in  me  Club  winder  an'  watch  it  ryne 
on  the  dam  people !"  That's  if  I  was  a  average  noble- 
man !  If  I  was  a  bit  more  noble,  I  might  be  tempted 
to  come  the  kind-'earted  on  twenty  thou'  a  year. 
Some  prefers  yachts,  or  ryce  'orses.  But  philanthropy 
on  the  'ole  is  syfer,  in  these  dyes. 

Lord  W.  So  you  think  one  takes  to  it  as  a  sort  of 
insurance,  Mr.  Lemmy  .5^     Is  that  quite  fair.^ 

Lemmy.  Well,  we've  all  got  a  weakness  towards 
bein'  kind,  somewhere  abaht  us.  But  the  moment 
wealf  comes  in,  we  'yn't  wot  I  call  single- 'carted.  If 
yer  went  into  the  foundytions  of  your  wealf — would 
yer  feel  like  'avin'  any?  It  all  comes  from  uvver 
people's    'ard,    unpleasant   lybour — it's    all    built    on 


ACT  III  THE  FOUNDATIONS  77 

Muv\^er  as  yer  might  sj\     An'  if  yer  daon't  get  rid  o* 
some  of  it  in  bein'  kind — yer  daon't  feel  sWe  nor  comfy. 

Lord  W.  [Twisting  his  moustache]  Your  philosophy 
is  very  pessimistic. 

LEiTMY.  Well,  I  calls  meself  an  optimist;  I  sees  the 
worst  of  everyfink.  Never  disappjuted,  can  afford  to 
'ave  me  smile  under  the  blackest  sky.  "When  deaf  is 
squeezin'  of  me  windpipe,  I  shall  'ave  a  laugh  in  it! 
Fact  is,  if  yer've  'ad  to  do  wiv  gas  an'  water  pipes,  yer 
can  fyce  anji&ng.  [The  distant  Marseillaise  blares  up] 
'Ark  at  the  revolution ! 

Lord  W.  [Rather  desperately]  I  know — hunger  and 
all  the  rest  of  it !  And  here  am  I,  a  rich  man,  and 
don't  know  what  the  deuce  to  do. 

LiarMY.  Well,  I'll  tell  yer.  Throw  yer  cellars  open, 
an'  while  the  populyce  is  gettin'  drunk,  sell  all  yer  'ave 
an'  go  an'  live  in  Ireland;  they've  got  the  millennium 
chronic  over  there. 

Lord  Willloi  utters  a  short,  vexed  laugh,  and 
begins  to  walk  about. 
That's  speakin'  as  a  practical  man.  Speakin'  as  a 
s\Tit — "Bruvvers,  all  I  'ave  is  yours.  To-morrer  I'm 
goin'  dahn  to  the  Lybour  ExchjTige  to  git  put  on  the 
wytin'  list,  syme  as  you !" 

Lord  W.  But,  d it,  man,  there  we  should  be, 

all  together  !     Would  that  help  ? 

LEiOiY.  Nao;  but  it'd  s\^'e  a  lot  o'  blood. 

Lord  William  stops  abruptly,  and  looks  first 
at  Le^imy,  the7i  at  the  cooler,  still  covered 
with  the  Chinese  mat. 
Yer  thought  the  Englishman  could  be  taught  to  shed 


78  THE  FOUNDATIONS         act  hi 

blood  wiv  syfety.  Not  'im!  Once  yer  git  *im  into 
an  'abit,  yer  cawn't  git  'im  out  of  it  agyne.  'E'll  go 
on  sheddin'  blood  mechanical — Conservative  by  nyture. 
An'  'e  won't  myke  nuffin'  o'  yours.  Not  even  the 
Press  wiv  'is  'oneyed  words'll  sty  'is  'and. 

Lord  W.  And  what  do  you  suggest  we  could  have 
done,  to  avoid  trouble? 

Lemmy.  [Warming  to  his  theme]  I'll  tell  yer.  If  all 
you  wealfy  nobs  wiv  kepitel  'ad  come  it  kind  from  the 
start  after  the  war  yer'd  never  'a  been  'earin'  the 
Marseillaisy  naow.  Lord !  'Ow  you  did  talk  abaht 
Unity  and  a  noo  spirit  in  the  Country.  Noo  spirit! 
^Vhy,  soon  as  ever  there  was  no  djTiger  from  outside, 
yer  stawted  to  myke  it  inside,  wiv  an  iron  'and.  Naow, 
you've  been  in  the  war  an'  it's  given  yer  a  feelin'  'eart; 
but  most  of  the  nobs  wiv  kepitel  was  too  old  or  too 
important  to  fight.  They  weren't  born  agj-ne.  So 
naow  that  bad  times  is  come,  we're  'owlin'  for  their 
blood. 

Lord  W.  I  quite  agree;  I  quite  agree.  I've  often 
said  much  the  same  thing. 

Lemmy.  Voice  cryin'  in  the  wilderness — ^I  daon't  sy 
we  was  yngels — there  was  faults  on  bofe  sides.  [He 
looks  at  The  Press]  The  Press  could  ha'  helped  yer  a 
lot.  Shall  I  tell  yer  wot  the  Press  did.?  "It's  vital," 
said  the  Press,  "that  the  country  should  be  united, 
or  it  will  never  recover."  Nao  strikes,  nao  'uman 
nature,  nao  nuflSnk.  Kepitel  an'  Lybour  like  the 
Siamese  twins.  And,  fust  dispute  that  come  along, 
the  Press  orfs  wiv  its  coat  an'  goes  at  it  bald-'eaded. 


ACT  III  THE  FOUNDATIONS  79 

An'  wot  abaht  since?  Sich  a  riot  o'  nymes  called,  in 
Press  and  Pawlyement — Unpatriotic  an'  outrygeous 
demands  o'  lybour.  Blood-suckin'  tyrannj^  o'  Kepitel; 
thieves  an'  dawgs  an'  'owlin  Jackybines — gents  throwin' 
books  at  each  other;  all  the  resources  of  edjucytion  ex- 
hausted !  If  I'd  been  Prime  Minister  I'd  'ave  'ad  the 
Press's  gas  cut  'orf  at  the  meter.  Puffect  liberty,  of 
course,  nao  Censorship;  just  sy  wot  yer  like — an'  never 
be  'card  of  no  more. 

Turning  suddenly  to  The  Press,  who  has  been 
scribbling  in  pace  with  this  harangue,  and 
now  has  developed  a  touch  of  writer  s  cramp. 
Why !     'Is  'and's  out  o'  breath !    Fink  o'  vet ! 

Lord  W.  Great   tribute    to   your    eloquence,    Mr. 
Lemmy ! 

A  sudden  stir  of  applause  and  scraping  of 
chairs  is   heard ;   the   meeting   is   evidently 
breaking    up.     Lady    William    comes    in, 
followed  by  Mrs.  Lemmy  with  her  trousers, 
and  Little  Aida.     Lemmy  stares  fixedly  at 
this  sudden  radiant  apparition.     His  gaze 
becomes  as  that  of  a  rabbit  regarding  a  snake. 
And  suddenly  he  puts  up  his  hand  and  wipes 
his  brow. 
Lady  William,  going  to  the  table,  lifts  one  end 
of  the  Chinese  mxtt,  and  looks  at  Leachy. 
Then  she  turns  to  Lord  William. 
Lady  W.  BiU ! 

Lemmy.  [To  his  mother — in  a  hoarse  ichisper]  She 
calls  'im  Bill.     'Ow !     'Yn't  she  IT? 


80  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  hi 

Lady  W.  [Apart]  Have  you  spoken  to  him? 

[Lord  Willia:^!  shakes  his  head,. 
Not  ?     TMiat  have  you  been  saying,  then  ? 
Lord  W.  Nothing,  he's  talked  all  the  time. 
Lady  W.  [Very  loic]  WTiat  a  little  caution ! 
Lord  W.  Steady,   old  girl!    He's  got  his  eye  on 
you! 

Lady  William  looks  at  Lemmy,  whose  eyes 
are  still  fixed  on  her. 

Lady  W.  [With  resolution]  Well,  7'w  going  to  tackle 
him. 

She  moves  towards  Levoiy,  who  again  toipes 
his  brow,  and  tarings  out  his  hand. 

Mrs.  Lemmy.  Don't  'ee  du  that.  Bob.  Yu  must 
forgive  'im.  Ma'am;  it's  'is  admiration.  'E  was  always 
one  for  the  ladies,  and  he'm  not  used  to  seein'  so  much 
of  'em. 

Lady  W.  Don't  you  think  you  owe  us  an  explana- 
tion "^ 

Mrs.  L.  Speak  up,  Bob. 

[But  Lemmy  ordy  shifts  his  feet. 
My  gudeness!  'E'v^e  a-lost  'is  tongue.  I  never  knu 
that  'appen  to  'e  before. 

Lord  W.  [Trying  to  break  the  embarrassment]  No  ill- 
feeling,  you  know,  Lemmy. 

[Bui  Lemmy  stiU  only  rolls  his  eyes. 

Lady  W.  Don't  you  think  it  was  rather — incon- 
siderate of  you? 


ACT  III  THE  FOUNDATIONS  81 

Lemmy.  Muvver,  tyke  me  aht,  I'm  feelin'  fynte! 

Spurts  of  the  Marseillaise  and  the  mutter  of 
the   crowd  have   been  coining   nearer ;   and 
suddenly   a   knocking   is   heard.     Poulder 
and  James  appear  between  the  pillars, 
Poulder.  The  populace,  me  Lord ! 
Lady  W.  What! 

Lord  W.  Where' ve  you  put  'em,  Poulder? 
Poulder.  They've  put  theirselves  in  the  portico, 
me  Lord. 

Lord  W.  [Suddenly  unping  his  broio]  Phew !  I  say, 
this  is  awful,  Nell !  Two  speeches  in  one  evening. 
Nothing  else  for  it,  I  suppose.  Open  the  window, 
Poulder ! 

Poulder.  [Crossing  to  the  icindow]  We  are  prepared 
for  any  sacrifice,  me  Lord.  [He  opens  the  vnndow. 

Press.  [Writing  furiously]  "Lady  William  stood  like 
a  statue  at  bay." 

Lord  W.  Got  one  of  those  lozenges  on  you,  Nell.'* 

But  Lady  William  has  almost  nothing  on  her. 
Lemmy.  [Produmng  a  paper  from  his  pocket]  'Ave 
one  o'  my  gum  drops  ? 

[He  passes  it  to  Lord  William. 

Lord  W.  [Unable  to  refuse,  takes  a  large  flat  gum 
drop  from  the  paper,  and  looks  at  it  in  embarrassment.] 
Ah !  thanks !    Thanks  awfully ! 

Lemmy  turns  to  Little  Aida,  and  puts  a  gum 
drop  in  her  mouth.  A  burst  of  murmurs 
from  the  crowd. 


82  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  hi 

James.  [Towering  above  the  wine  cooler]  If  they  get 
saucy,  me  Lord,  I  can  always  give  'em  their  own  back. 
Lord  "VY.  Steady,  James;  steady ! 

He  puts  the  gum  drop  absently  in  his  mouth, 
and  turns  up  to  the  open  window. 

Voice.  [Outside]  'Ere  they  are — the  bally  pluto- 
crats. [Voices  in  chorus  :  '*  Bread  !     Bread  .'" 

Lord  W.  Poulder,  go  and  tell  the  chef  to  send  out 
anything  there  is  in  the  house — nicely^  as  if  it  came 
from  nowhere  in  particular. 

Poulder.  Very  good,  me  Lord.  [Sotto  voce]  Any 
wine.'^     If  I  might  suggest — German — 'ock.^ 

Lord  W.  What  you  like. 

Poulder    Very  good,  me  Lord.  [He  goes. 

Lord  W.  I  say,  dash  it,  Nell,  m^^  teeth  are  stuck ! 
[He  works  his  finger  in  his  mouth. 

Lady  W.  Take  it  out,  darling. 

Lord  W.  [Taking  out  the  gum  drop  and  looking  at 
it]  What  the  deuce  did  I  put  it  m  for? 

Press.  [Writing]  "With  inimitable  coolness  Lord 
William  prepared  to  address  the  crowd." 

[Voices  in  chorus  :  ''Bread  I  Bread  /" 

Lord  W.  Stand  by  to  prompt,  old  gu-l.  Now  for  it. 
This  ghastly  gum  drop ! 

Lady  William  takes  it  from  his  agitated  hand, 
and  flips  it  through  the  window. 

Voice.  Dahn  with  the  aristo [Chokes. 

Lady  W.  Oh !  Bill — oh  I    It's  gone  into  a  mouth ! 


ACT  III  THE  FOUNDATIONS  83 

Lord  W.  Good  God ! 

Voice.  Wot's  this?  Throwin'  things?  Mind  aht, 
or  we'll  smash  yer  winders  ! 

As  the  voices  in  chorus  chant :  ''Bread ! 
Bread  / "  Little  Anne,  night-gowned,  darts 
in  from  the  hall.  She  is  followed  by  Miss 
Stokes.     They  stand  listening. 

Lord  W.  [To  the  Crowd]  My  friends,  you've  come 
to  the  wrong  shop.  There's  nobody  in  London  more 
sympathetic  with  you.  [The  crowd  laughs  hoarsely. 
[Whispering]  Look  out,  old  girl;  they  can  see  your 
shoulders.  [Lady  William  moves  back  a  step. 
If  I  were  a  speaker,  I  could  make  you  feel 

Voice.  Look  at  his  white  weskit !  Blood-suckers — 
fattened  on  the  people! 

[James  dives  his  hand  at  the  wine  cooler. 

Lord  W.  I've  always  said  the  Government  ought 

to  take  immediate  steps 

Voice.  To  shoot  us  dahn. 

Lord  W.  Not  a  bit.     To  relieve  the — er 

Lady  W.  [Prompting]  Distress. 


Lord  W.  Distress,  and  ensure — er — ensure 

Lady  W.  [Prompting]  Quiet. 

Lord  W.  [To  her]  No,  no.     To  ensure — ensure 

L.  Axxe.  [Agonized]  Oh,  Daddy! 

Voice.  'E  wants  to  syve  'is  dirty  great  'ouse. 

Lord  W.  [Roused]  D if  I  do ! 

[Rude  and  hoarse  laughter  from  the  crowd. 


84  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  hi 

J-\MES.  [With  fury]  Me  Lord,  let  me  blow  'em  to 
glory ! 

He  raises  the  cooler  and  advances  towards  the 
vnndow. 

Lord  W.  [Turning  sharply  on  him]  Drop  it,  James; 
drop  it ! 
Press.  [Jumping]  No,  no;  don't  drop  it! 

James  retires  crestfallen  to  the  table,  where  he 
replaces  the  cooler. 

Lord  W.  [Catching  hold  of  his  bit]  Look  here,  I 
must  have  fought  alongside  some  of  you  fellows  in  the 
war.     Weren't  we  jolly  well  like  brothers? 

A  Voice.  Not  so  much  bloomin'  "Kamerad";  hand 
over  yer  'ouse. 

Lord  W.  I  was  born  with  this  beastly  great  house, 
and  money,  and  goodness  knows  what  other  entangle- 
ments— a  wife  and  family 

Voice.  Bom  with  a  wife  and  family ! 

[Jeers  end  laughter. 

Lord  W.  I  feel  we're  all  in  the  same  boat,  and  I 
want  to  pull  my  weight.  If  you  can  show  me  the  way, 
I'll  take  it  fast  enough. 

A  Deep  Voice.  Step  dahn  then,  an'  we'll  step  up. 

Another  Voice.  'Ear,  'Ear! 

[A  fierce  little  cheer. 

Lord  W.  [To  Lady  William — in  despair]  By  George ! 
I  can't  get  in  anywhere ! 
Lady  W.  [Calmly]  Then  shut  the  window,  Bill. 


ACT  III  THE  FOUNDATIONS  85 

LEMiiY.  [Who  has  been  moving  towards  them  slowly] 
Lemme  sy  a  word  to  'em. 

All  stare  at  him.    Lemjiy  approaches  the  win- 
dow, followed  by  Littke  Aida.     Poulder 
re-enters  with  the  three  other  footmen. 
[At  the  window]  Cheerio !     Cockies ! 

[The  silence  of  surprise  falls  on  the  crowd. 
I'm  one  of  yer.  Gas  an'  water  I  am.  Got  more 
grievances  an*  out  of  employment  than  any  of  yer.  I 
M'ant  to  see  their  blood  flow,  sjTne  as  you. 

Press.  [Writing]  "Born  orator — ready  cockney  wit 
— saves  situation." 

LEiGiY.  Wot  I  sy  is:  Dahn  wiv  the  country,  dahu 
wiv  everyfing.  Begin  agyne  from  the  foundytions. 
[Nodding  his  head  back  at  the  room]  But  we've  got  to 
keep  one  or  two  o'  these  'ere  under  glawss,  to  show 
our  future  generytions.  An'  this  one  is  'armless.  His 
pipes  is  sahnd,  'is  'eart  is  good;  'is  'ead  is  not  strong. 
'Is  'ouse  will  myke  a  charmin'  palace  o'  varieties  where 
our  children  can  come  an'  see  'ow  they  did  it  in  the 
good  old  dyes.  Yer  never  see  sich  waxworks  as  'is 
butler  and  'is  four  conscientious  khaki  footmen.  "WTiy 
— wot  d'yer  think  'e  'as  'em  for — fear  they  might  be 
out-o'-works  like  you  an'  me.  Nao !  Keep  this  one; 
'e's  a  Flower.  'Arf  a  mo' !  I'll  show  yer  my  Muwer. 
Come  'ere,  old  lydy;  and  bring  yer  trahsers.  [Mrs. 
Lemmy  comes  forward  to  the  window]  Tell  abaht  yer 
speech  to  the  meetin'. 

Mrs.  Lemmy.  [Bridling]  Oh  dear !  Well,  I  cam'  in 
with  me  trousers,  an'  they  putt  me  up  on  the  pedestory 


86  THE   FOUNDATIONS  act  hi 

at  once,  so  I  tole  'em.  [Holding  up  the  trousers]  "I  putt 
in  the  button'oles,  I  stretches  the  flies;  I  lines  the 
crutch;  I  putt  on  this  bindin',  I  presses  the  seams — 
Tuppence  three  farthin's  a  pair." 

[.4  groan  jroni  the  crowd. 

Lemmy.  [Showing  her  off]  Seventy-seven!  Wot's 
'er  income  ?  Twelve  bob  a  week;  seven  from  the  Gov- 
er'ment,  an'  five  from  the  sweat  of  'er  brow.  Look  at 
'er !  'Yn't  she  a  tight  old  dear  to  keep  it  gom' !  No 
workus  for  'er,  nao  fear !    The  gryve  rather ! 

Murmurs  from  the  crowd,  at  whom  Mrs.  Lemmy 
is  blandly  smiling. 
You  cawn't  git  below  'er — impossible!  She's  the 
foundytions  of  the  country — an'  rocky  ':yTi't  the  word 
for  'em.  Worked  'ard  all  'er  life,  brought  up  a  family 
and  buried  'em  on  it.  Twelve  bob  a  week,  an'  seven 
when  'er  fingers  goes,  which  is  very  near.  Well,  naow, 
this  torf  'ere  comes  to  me  an'  says:  "I'd  like  to  do 
somefin'  for  yer  muwer.  'Ow's  ten  bob  a  week?"  'e 
says.  Naobody  arst  'im — quite  on  'is  o^m.  That's 
the  sort  'e  is.  [Sinking  his  voice  confidentially]  Sorft. 
You  brmg  yer  muwers  'ere,  'e'U  do  the  syme  for  them. 
I  giv  yer  the  'int. 

Voice.  [From  the  crowd]  WTiat's  'is  nyme  ? 

Lemmy.  They  calls  'im  Bill. 

Voice.  Bill  what  ? 

L.  Anne.  Dromondy. 

Lady  W.  Anne! 

Lemmy.  Dromedary  'is  nyme  is. 


ACT  III  THE  FOUNDATIONS  87 

Voice.  [From  the  crotod]  Three  cheers  for  Bill  Drom- 
edary. 

Lemsit.  I  sy,  there's  veal  an'  'am,  an'  pork  wine  at 
the  back  for  them  as  wants  it;  I  'card  the  word  passed. 
An'  look  'ere,  if  yer  want  a  flag  for  the  revolution,  tyke 
muvver's  trahsers  an'  tie  'em  to  the  corfin.  Yer 
cawn't  'ave  no  more  inspirin'  banner.  Ketch!  [He 
throws  the  trousers  out]  Give  Bill  a  double-barrel  fust, 
to  show  there's  no  ill-feelin'.     'Ip,  'ip ! 

The  crowd  cheers,  then  slowly  passes  away, 
singing  its  hoarse  version  of  the  Marseillaise, 
till  all  that  is  heard  is  a  faint  murmuring 
and  a  distant  barrel-organ  playing  the  same 
tune. 

Press.  [Writing]  ''And  far  up  m  the  clear  summer 
air  the  larks  were  singing." 

Lord  W.  [Passing  his  hand  over  his  hair,  and  blink- 
ing his  eyes]  James!     Ready? 

James.  Me  Lord ! 

L.  Anne.  Daddy! 

Lady  W.  [Taking  his  arm]  Bill  1  It's  all  right,  old 
man — all  right ! 

Lord  W.  [Blinldng]  Those  infernal  larks !  Thought 
we  were  on  the  Somme  again!  Ah!  Mr.  Lemmy, 
[StiU  rather  dreamy]  no  end  obliged  to  you;  you're  so 
decent.  Now,  why  did  you  want  to  blow  us  up  before 
dinner  ? 

Lemmy.  Blow  yer  up?  [Passing  his  hand  over  his 
hair  in  travesty]  "Is  it  a  dream?  Then  wykin'  would 
be  pyne." 


88  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  hi 

Mrs.  Lemmy.  Bo-ob !    Not  so  saucy,  my  boy ! 

Lemmy.  Blow  yer  up  ?    Wot  abaht  it  ? 

Lady  W.  [Indicating  the  bomb]  This,  IVIr.  Lemmy! 
Lemmy  looks  at  ity  and  his  eyes  roll  and  goggle. 

Lord  W.  Come,  all's  forgiven !    But  why  did  you  ? 

Lemmy.  Orl  right!  I'm  goin'  to  tyke  it  awy;  it'd 
a-been  a  bit  ork'ard  for  me.     I'll  want  it  to-morrer. 

Lord  W.  What!    To  leave  somewhere  else.'* 

Lemmy.  Yus,  of  course ! 

Lord  W.  No,  no;  dash  it !  Tell  us — what's  it  filled 
with? 

Lemmy.  Filled  wiv  ?  Nuffin'.  Wot  did  yer  expect  ? 
Toof-pahder  ?  It's  got  a  bit  o'  my  lead  soldered  on  to 
it.     That's  why  it's  'eavy  ! 

Lord  W.  But  what  is  it.^ 

Lemmy.  Wot  is  it  ?  [His  eyes  are  fearfvlly  fixed  on 
Lady  William]  I  fought  everybody  knew  'em. 

Lady  W.  IVIr.  Lemmy,  you  must  clear  this  up, 
please. 

Lemmy.  [To  Lord  William,  with  his  eyes  still  fixed  on 
Lady  Willla^ — mysteriously]  Wiv  lydies  present.? 
'Adn't  I  better  tell  the  Press.? 

Lord  W.  All  right;  tell  someone — anyone ! 

Lemmy  goes  down  to  The  Press,  who  is  read- 
ing over  his  last  note.  Everyone  watches  and 
listens  with  the  utmost  discretion,  while  he 
whispers  into  the  ear  of  The  Press,  who 
shakes  his  head  violently. 

Press.  No,  no;  it's  too  horrible.  It  destroys  my 
whole 


ACT  III  THE  FOUNDATIONS  89 

Lemmy.  Well,  I  tell  yer  it  is. 

[Whispers  again  viokntly. 
Press.  No,  no;  I  can't  have  it.     All  my  article !    All 
my  article !    It  can't  be — no ! 

Lemmy.  I  never  see  sich  an  obstinate  thick-head! 
Yer  'yn't  worvy  of  yer  tryde. 

He  whispers  still  more  violently   and  rrmkes 

cabalistic  signs. 
Lady  William  lifts  the  bomb  from  the  cooler 
into  the  sight  of  all.   Lord  Willl\ii,  seeing  it 
for  the  first  time  in  full  light,  bends  double  in 
silent  laughter,   and   whispers   to   his   wife. 
Lady  Willlui  drops  the  bomb  and  gives  way 
too.    Hearing  the  sound,  Lemmy  turns,  and 
his  goggling  eyes  pass  them  all  in  review. 
Lord  and  Lady  WiLLL\ii  in  fits  of  laughter, 
Little  Anne  stamping  her  feet,  for  ^Iiss 
Stokes,  red,  but  composed^  has  her  hands 
placed  firmly  over  her  pupil's  eyes  and  ears  ; 
Little    Aida    smiling    brilliantly,    Mrs. 
Lemmy  blandly  in  sympathy,  neither  know- 
ing why;  the  Foltr  Footmen  in  a  row, 
smothering  little  explosions.     Poulder,  ex- 
tremely grave  and  redy  The  Press  perfectly 
haggard,  gnav:ing  at  his  nails. 
Lemmy.  [Turning  to  The  Press]  Blimy  !  It  amooses 
'em,  all  but  the  genteel  ones.     Cheer  oh !     Press !     Yer 
can  always  myke  somefin'  out  o'  nuffin'  ?     It's  not  the 
fust  thing  as  'as  existed  in  yer  imaginytion  only. 
Press.  No,  d it;  I'll  keep  it  a  bomb ! 


90  THE  FOUNDATIONS  act  iii 

Lemmy.  [Soothingly]  Ah !  Keep  the  sensyticn.  Wot's 
the  troof  compared  wiv  that?  Come  on,  Muvver! 
Come  on.  Little  Aida!  Time  we  was  goin'  dahn  to 
'Earf ! 

He  goes  up  to  the  table,  and  still  skidding  a  little 
at  Lady  William,  takes  the  late  bomb  from 
ike  cooleTy  placing  it  under  his  arm. 
Mrs.  Lemmy.  Gude  naight,  sir;  gude  naight,  ma'am; 
thank  yu  for  my  cup  o'  tea,  an'  all  yure  kindness. 

She  shakes  hands  with  Lord  and  Lady  Wil- 
liam, drops  the  curtsey  of  her  youth  before 
Mr.   Poulder,   and  goes  out  folknved  by 
Little  Aida,  who  is  looking  back  at  Little 
Anne. 
Lemmy.  [Turning  suddenly]  Aoh !    An'  jist  one  fing ! 
Next  time  yer  build  an  *ouse,  daon't  forget — it's  the 
foundytions  as  bears  the  w\i:e. 

With  a  wink  that  gives  way  to  a  last  fascinated 

look  at  Lady  William,  he  passes  out.    All 

gaze  after  them,  except  The  Press,  who  is 

tragically  consulting  his  spifiicated  notes. 

L.  Anne.  [Breaking  aicay  from  Miss  Stokes  and 

rushing  forward]  Oh !  Mum !  what  was  it  '^ 

curtain 


THE  SKIN  GAME 

(A  tragi-co:medy) 

Who  touches  pitch  shall  be  defiled  " 


CHARACTERS 


HlLLCRIST 

Amy 

Jill 

Dawkeb 

hornblower 

Charles 

Chloe 

Rolf    . 

Fellows 

Anna    . 

The  Jackmans 

An  Auctioneeb 
A  Solicitor 
Two  Strangers 


A  Country  Gentleman 
His  Wife 
His  Daughter 
His  Agent 
A  man  newly-rich 
His  Elder  Son 
Wife  to  Charles 
His  Younger  Son 
Hillcrist's  Butler 
Chloe' s  Maid 
Man  and  Wife 


ACT  I.  Hillcrist's  Study. 

ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.  A  month  later.     An  Auction  Room. 
SCENE  II.  The  same  evening.     Chloe's  Boudoir. 

ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.     The  following    day.      Hili^crist's    Study. 

Morning. 
SCENE  II.  The  Same.    Evening. 


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ACT  I 

Hillcrist's  study.  A  pleasant  room,  with  books  in  calf 
bindings,  and  signs  that  tJie  Hillcrists  have  trav- 
elled, such  as  a  large  photograph  of  the  Taj  Mahal, 
of  Table  Mountain,  and  the  Pyramids  of  Egypt. 
A  large  bureau  [stage  Right],  devoted  to  the  business 
of  a  country  estaie.  Tico  foxes' vmslcs.  Flowers  in 
bowls.  Deep  armchairs.  A  large  French  window 
open  [at  Back],  with  a  lovely  view  of  a  slight  rise  of 
fields  and  trees  in  August  sunlight.  A  fine  stone 
fireplace  [stage  Left].  A  door  [Left].  A  door  opposite 
[Right].  General  colour  effect — stone,  and  cigar-leaf 
brown,  u:ith  spots  of  bright  colour. 

[HiLLCRisT  sits  in  a  swivel  chair  at  the  bureau,  busy 
icith  papers.  He  has  gout,  and  his  left  foot  is 
encased  accordingly.  He  is  a  thin,  dried-up  man 
of  about  fifty  five,  with  a  rather  refiined,  rather  kindly, 
and  rather  cranky  countenance.  Close  to  him  stands 
his  very  upstanding  nineteen-year-old  daughter  Jill, 
with  clubbed  hair  round  a  pretty,  manly  face.] 

Jill.  You  know,  Dodo,  it's  all  pretty  good  rot  iii 
these  days. 

HiLLCRisT.  Cads  are  cads,  Jill,  even  in  these  days. 
Jill,  "\^'hat  is  a  cad  .^ 

Copyright,  19-20,  by  Charles  Scribner'a  Sana 

1 


2  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  i 

HiLLCRiST.  A  self-assertive  fellow,  without  a  sense 
of  other  people. 

Jill.  Well,  Old  Hornblower  I'll  give  you. 

HiLLCRisT.  I  wouldn't  take  him. 

Jill.  Well,  you've  got  him.  Now,  Charlie — Chearlie 
— I  say — the  importance  of  not  being  Charlie 

HiLLCRiST.  Good  heavens !  do  you  know  their  Chris- 
tian names  .'* 

Jill.  My  dear  father,  they've  been  here  seven  years. 

HiLLCRisT.  In  old  days  we  only  knew  their  Christian 
names  from  their  tombstones. 

Jill.  Charlie  Hornblower  isn't  really  half  a  bad 
sport. 

HnJXRiRT.  About  a  c'_\  •  f  ^.i  a  bad  sporL — I've 
jaiways  thought  out  huntin^:- 

JiLL.  [Pulling  his  hav]  Now,  his  wife — Chloe 

HiT.LCRiST.  [Whimsical]  Gad  !  your  r^other'd  have  a 
ft  if  she  knew  you  called  her  Cbloe. 

Jill.  It's  a  ripping  name. 

HiLLCRisT.  Chloe!    H'm!    I  had  a  spaniel  once 

Jill.  Dodo,  you're  narrow.  Buck  up,  old  darling, 
•t  won't  do.  Chloe  has  seen  life,  I'm  pretty  sure;  that's 
attractive,  anyway.  No,  mothers  not  in  the  room; 
don't  turn  your  uneasy  eyes. 

HiU-CBiFr.  Ilecilly,  my  df-ar.  you  are  gciliug 

Jill.  The  limit.    Now,  Koif 

Hillcrist.  Vv^hat's  Rolf?    Another  dog? 

Jill.  Rolf  Hornblower's  a  topper;  he  really  is  a  nice 
boy. 


ACT  I  THE  SKIN  GAME  3 

HiLLCRiST.  [With  a  sharp  look]  Oh!  He's  a  nice 
boy? 

Jill.  Yes,  darling.  You  know  what  a  nice  boy  is, 
don't  you  ? 

HiLLCRisT.  Not  in  these  days. 

Jill.  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  In  the  first  place,  he's  not 
amorous 

HiLLCRIST.    WIi-jU      W^^IK  <^M:'s     f-'ne  rf-nfort. 

Jill.  Just  a  jolly  good  companion. 

HiLLCRisT.  To  whom.^ 

Jill.  Well,  to  anyone — me. 

HiLLCRIST.  W^ere.'^ 

Jill.  Anywhere.  You  don't  suppose  I  confine  my- 
self to  the  home  paddocks,  do  you?  I'm  naturally 
rangey.  Father. 

HiLLCRisT.  [Ironically]  You  dci't  s:.;    .o! 

JiT.L.  In  the  sf^ond  place,  h  -  doesn't  like  discipline. 

HiL  .CRIST.  Jup'ler!    He  doe::  -eem  attraciive. 

JjLL.  I'T  the  third  ,  lace,  he  bars  liis  father. 

Hij/CFT'T.  Is  that  c:i  ential  to  nice  girls  too? 

Jiu..  [With  n  tmrl  of  h'u-i  hair]  Fish  not!  Fourthly, 
he's  got  idc'as. 

ITTl.LrT7isTr  T  kr-"/  i^^ 

.''iLi-  '  i'  iiiyLance,  ite  thinks — as  I  do 

HiLLCRIST.  Ah !    Good  ideas. 

Jill.  [Pulling  gently]  Careful !  He  thinks  old  people 
run  the  show  too  much.  He  says  they  oughtn't  to, 
because  they're  so  damtouchy.  Are  you  damtouchy, 
darling  ? 


4^  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  i 

HiLLCRiST.  Well,    I'm !    I   don't   know   about 

touchy. 

Jill.  He  says  there'll  be  no  world  fit  to  live  in  till 
we  get  rid  of  the  old.  We  must  make  them  climb  a 
tall  tree,  and  shake  them  off  it. 

HiLLCRiST.  [Drily]  Oh !  he  says  that ! 

Jilt.  0«^''\en\ ic,e,  with  the  wa^^  tney  stand  on  eacJi 
other's  ri.,Iits,  they'll  spoil  thj  gai  l.n  lor  the  young. 

HiLLCRiST.  Does  his  father  agree.'' 

Jill.  Oh !  Rolf  doesn't  talk  to  him,  his  mouth's  too 
large.     Have  you  ever  seen  it,  Dodo  ? 

HiLLCRiST.  Of  course. 

Jill.  It's  considerable,  isn't  it.?  Now  yours  is — 
reticent,  darling.     [Rumpling  his  hair.] 

HiLLCRiST.  It  won't  be  in  a  minute.  Do  you  realise 
that  I've  got  gout.'* 

Jill.  Poor  ducky!  How  Img  have  we  been  here. 
Dodo? 

IIiLLCRiST.  Since  Elizabeth,  an;>  way. 

Jill.  [Looking  at  his  foot]  It  has  its  drawl>acks. 
D'you  thii)L  Hornblower  had  a  Father:  ^  believe  he 
was  spontaneous.  But,  Dodo,  why  all  this — this  atti- 
tude to  the  Hornblowers  ? 

She  purses  her  lips  and  makes  a  gesture  as  of 
pushing  persons  away. 

HiLLCRiST.  Because  they're  pushing. 

Jill.  That's  only  because  we  are,  as  mother  would 
sa-y,  and  they're  not — yet.     But  why  not  let  them  be  J 

HiLLCRiST.  You  can't. 

Jill.  Why? 


ACT  I  THE  SKIN  GAME  5 

HiLLCRiST.  It  takes  generations  to  learn  to  live  and 
let  live,  Jill.  People  like  that  take  an  ell  when  you 
give  them  an  inch. 

Jill.  But  if  you  gav^e  them  the  ell,  they  wouldn't 
want  the  inch.     Why  shonM  i^  r,^^  ^^.^    -^r^h  i  ^Vm  ??a"mp  r* 

HiLLCRisT.  Skin  game?  Where  do  you  get  your 
lingo? 

Jill.  Keep  to  the  point,  Dodo. 

HiLLCRisT.  Well,  Jill,  all  life's  a  struggle  between 
people  at  different  stages  of  development,  in  different 
positions,  with  different  amounts  of  social  influence 
and  property.  And  the  only  thing  is  to  have  rules  of 
the  game  and  keep  them.  New  people  like  the  Horn- 
blowers  haven't  learnt  those  rules;  their  only  rule  is 
to  get  all  they  can. 

Jill.  Darling,  don't  prose.  They're  not  half  as  bad 
as  you  think. 

Hillcrist.  Well,  when  I  sold  Hornblower  Long- 
meadow  and  the  cottages,  I  certainly  found  him  all 
right.  All  the  same,  he's  got  the  cloven  hoof.  [Warm- 
ing up]  His  influence  in  Deep  water  is  thoroughly  bad; 
those  potteries  of  his  are  demoralising — the  whole 
atmosphere  of  the  place  is  changing.  It  was  a  thou- 
sand pities  he  ever  came  here  and  discovered  that 
clay.     He's  brought  in  the  modern  cutthroat  spirit. 

Jill.  Cut  our  throat  spirit,  you  mean.  "What's  your 
definition  of  a  gentleman,  Dodo  ? 

Hillcrist.  [Uneasily]  Can't  describe — only  feel  it. 

Jill.  Oh !  Try ! 

HiLLCRLST.  Well — er — I  suppose  you  might  say — a 


6  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  i 

man  who  keeps  his  form  and  doesn't  let  life  scupper 
him  out  of  his  standards. 

Jill.  But  suppose  his  standards  are  low.' 

HiLLCRisT.  [With  some  earnestness]  I  assume,  of 
course,  that  he's  honest  and  tolerant,  gentle  to  the 
weak,  and  not  self-seeking. 

Jill.  Ah!  self-seeking.^  But  aren't  we  all,  Dodo.'^ 
/  am. 

Hillcrist.  [With  a  smile]  You ! 

Jill.  [Scornfidly]  Oh !  yes — too  young  to  know. 

Hillcrist.  Nobody  knows  till  they're  under  pretty 
heavy  fire,  Jill. 

Jill.  Except,  of  course,  mother. 

Hillcrist.  How  do  you  mean — mother.'* 

Jill.  Mother  reminds  me  of  England  according  to 
herself — always  right  whatever  she  does. 

Hillcrist.  Ye-es.  Your  mother  is  perhaps — the 
perfect  woman 

Jill.  That's  what  I  was  saying.  Now,  no  one  could 
call  you  perfect.  Dodo.     Besides,  you've  got  gout. 

Hillcrist.  Yes;  and  I  want  Fellows.  Ring  that 
bell. 

Jill.  [Crossing  to  the  bell]  Shall  I  tell  you  viy  defini- 
tion of  a  gentleman?  LA  man  who  gives  the  Horn- 
blower  his  due^  [She  rings  the  bell]  And  I  think  mother 
ought  to  calPon  them.  Rolf  says  old  Hornblower 
resents  it  fearfully  that  she's  never  made  a  sign  to 
Chloe  the  three  years  she's  been  here. 

Hillcrist.  I  don't  interfere  with  your  mother  in 


ACT  I 


THE  SKIN  GAIVIE 


such  matters.     She  may  go  and  call  on  the  devil  him- 
self if  she  likes. 

Jill.  I  know  you're  ever  so  much  better  than  she  is. 

HiLLCRiST.  That's  respectful. 

Jill.  You  do  keep  your  prejudices  out  of  your  phiz. 
But  mother  Hterally  looks  doT\Ti  her  nose.  And  she 
never  forgives  an  "h."  They'd  get  the  "hell"  from 
her  if  they  took  the  "hinch." 

HiLLCRisT.  Jill — your  language ! 

Jill.  Don't  slime  out  of  it.  Dodo.  I  say,  mother 
ought  to  call  on  the  Hornblowers.  [No  anstoer, 

WeU.^ 

HiLLCRisT.  Mj'  dear,  I  always  let  people  have  the 
last  word.  It  makes  them — feel  funny.  Ugh!  My 
foot !  [Ervter  Fellows,  Left. 

Fellows,  send  into  the  \411age  and  get  another  bottle 
of  this  stuff. 

Jill.  I'll  go,  darlmg. 

[she  hlmcs  him  a  kiss,  and  goes  out  at  the  window. 

HiLLCRisT.  And  tell  cook  I've  got  to  go  on  slops. 
This  foot's  worse. 

Fellows.  [Sympathetic]  Indeed,  sir. 

HiLLCRiST.  My  third  go  this  year.  Fellows. 

Fellows.  Very  annoying,  sir. 

HiLLCRisT.  Ye — es.     Ever  had  it.^ 

Fellows.  I  fancy  I  have  had  a  twinge,  sir. 

HiLLCKisT.  [Brightening]  Have  you.^     Where  .^ 

Fellows.  In  my  cork  \\Tist,  sir. 

HiLLCRisT.  Your  what  ? 

Fellows.  The  wrist  I  draw  corks  with. 


8  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  i 

HiLLCRiST.  [With  a  cackle]  You'd   have  had   more 
than  a  twinge  if  you'd  lived  with  my  father.     H'm ! 

Fellows.  Excuse  me,   sir — Vichy  water  corks,   in 
my  experience,  are  worse  than  any  wine. 

HiLLCRisT.  [Ironically]  Ah !  The  country's  not  what 
it  was,  is  it,  Fellows  ? 

Fellows.  Getting  very  new,  sir. 
HiLLCRiST.  [Feelingly]  You're   right.     Has   Dawker 
come  ? 

Fellows.  Not  yet,  sir.     The  Jackmans  would  like 
to  see  you,  sir. 

HiLLCRiST.  \^Tiat  about  ? 
Fellow^s.  I  don't  know,  sir. 
HiLLCRiST.  Well,  show  them  in. 
Fellows.  [Going]  Yes,  sir. 

HiLLCRiST  turns  his  swivel  chair  round.     The 
Jackmans  come  in.    Ht,  a  big  fellow  about 
fijiyy  in  a  labourer  s  dress,  with  eyes  which 
have  more  in  them  than  his  tongue  can  ex- 
press ;  she,  a  little  woman  with  a  worn  face, 
a  bright,  quick  glance,  and  a  tongue  to  match. 
HiLLCRiST.  Good  mornmg,  IMrs.  Jackman!    Morn- 
ing, Jackman!    Haven't  seen  you  for  a  long  time. 
What  can  I  do.^ 

[He  draws  in  foot,  and  breath,  with  a  sharp  hissi 
Jackman.  [In  a  down-hearted  voice]  We've  had  notice 
to  quit,  sir. 

HiLLCRiST.  [With  emphasis]  WTiat ! 
Jackjvian.  Got  to  be  out  this  week. 
Mrs.  J.  Yes,  sir,  indeed. 


..CT  I  THE  SKIN  GA]ME  9 

HiLLCRiST.  Well,  but  when  I  sold  Longmeadow  and 
the  cottages,  it  was  on  the  express  understandmg  that 
there  was  to  be  no  disturbance  of  tenancies. 

^Irs.  J.  Yes,  sir;  but  we've  all  got  to  go.  'Mrs. 
'Arvey,  and  the  Drews,  an'  us,  and  there  isn't  another 
cottage  to  be  had  anj^vhere  in  Deepwater. 

HiLLCRiST.  I  know;  I  want  one  for  my  cowman. 
This  won't  do  at  all.     "\Miere  do  you  get  it  from  ? 

Jace3L\x.  Mr.  'Ornblower,  'imself,  sir.  Just  an 
hour  ago.  He  come  round  and  said:  "I'm  sorry;  I 
want  the  cottages,  and  you've  got  to  clear." 

'Mrs.  J.  [Bitterly]  He's  no  gentleman,  sir;  he  put  it 
so  brisk.  We  been  there  thirty  years,  and  now  we 
don't  know  what  to  do.  So  I  hope  you'll  excuse  us 
coming  round,  sir. 

HiLLCRiST.  I  should  think  so,  indeed!  H'm!  [He 
rises  and  limps  across  to  the  firejjlace  on  his  stick.  To 
himself]  The  cloven  hoof.  By  George  !  this  is  a  breach 
of  faith.  I'U  WTite  to  him,  Jackman.  Confound  it ! 
I'd  certainly  never  have  sold  if  I'd  known  he  was  going 
to  do  this. 

JVIrs.  J.  No,  sir,  I'm  sure,  sir.  They  do  say  it's  to 
do  with  the  potteries.  He  wants  the  cottages  for  his 
workmen. 

•  HiLLCRiST.  [Sharply]  That's  all  very  well,  but  he 
shouldn't  have  led  me  to  suppose  that  he  would  make 
no  change. 

JACKiLA-N.  [Heaiily]  They  talk  about  his  havin' 
bought  the  Gentry  to  put  up  more  chimneys  there, 
and  that's  why  he  wants  the  cottages. 


10  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  i 

HiLLCRiST.  The  Gentry!    Impossible! 

Mrs.  J.  Yes,  sir;  it's  such  a  pretty  spot — looks  beau- 
tiful from  here.  [She  looks  out  throiigh  the  window] 
Loveliest  spot  in  all  Deepwater,  I  always  say.  And 
your  father  owned  it,  and  his  fjather  before  'im.  It's 
a  pity  they  ever  sold  it,  sir,  beggin'  your  pardon. 

HiLLCRisT.  The  Gentry !  [He  rings  the  bell 

Mrs.  J.  [Who  has  brightened  up]  I'm  glad  you're 
goin'  to  stop  it,  sir.  It  does  put  us  about.  We  don't 
know  where  to  go.  I  said  to  Mr.  Hornblower,  I  said, 
"I'm  sure  Mr.  Hillcrist  would  never  'ave  turned  us 

out."    An*  'e  said:  "Mr.  Hillcrist  be  "  beggin' 

yom-  pardon,  sir.  "Make  no  mistake,"  'e  said,  "you 
must  go,  missis."  He  don't  even  know  our  name;  an' 
to  come  it  like  this  over  us !  He's  a  dreadful  new  man, 
I  think,  with  his  overridin'  notions.  And  sich  a  heavy- 
footed  man,  to  look  at.  [With  a  sort  of  indulgent  con- 
tempt] But  he's  from  the  North,  they  say. 

[Fellows  has  entered.  Left 

Hillcrist.  Ask  Mrs.  Hillcrist  if  she'll  come. 

Fellows.  Very  good,  sir. 

Hillcrist.  Is  Dawker  here  ? 

Fellows.  Not  yet,  sir. 
'  Hillcrist.  I  want  to  see  him  at  once. 

[Fellows  retires. 

Jackman.  Mr.  Hornblower  said  he  was  comm'  on 
to  see  you,  sir.     So  we  thought  we'd  step  along  first. 

Hillcrist.  Quite  right,  Jackman. 

Mrs.  J.  I  said  to  Jackman:  "Mr.  Hillcrist'U  stand 
up  for  U5, 1  know.     He's  a  gentleman,"  I  said.     "This 


ACT 


THE  SKIN  GAIVIE 


11 


man,"  I  said,  "don't  care  for  the  neighbourhood,  or 
the  people;  he  don't  care  for  anything  so  long  as  he 
makes  his  money,  and  has  his  importance.  You  can't 
expect  it,  I  suppose,"  I  said;  [Bitierly]  "havin'  got  rich 
so  sudden."     The  gentry  don't  do  things  like  that. 

HiLLCRiST.  [Abstracted]  Quite,  Mrs.  Jackman,  quite ! 
[To  himself]  The  Gentry !    No ! 

Mrs.  Htllceist  enters.  A  well-dressed  woman, 
with  a  firm,  clear-cut  face. 

Oh !  Amy !  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jackman  turned  out  of  their 
cottage,  and  Mrs.  Harvey,  and  the  Drews.  When  I 
sold  to  Hornblower,  I  stipulated  that  they  shouldn't  be. 

J^Irs.  J.  Our  week's  up  on  Saturday,  ma'am,  and 
I'm  sure  I  don't  know  where  we  shall  turn,  because  of 
course  Jackman  must  be  near  his  work,  and  I  shall  lose 
me  washin'  if  we  have  to  go  far. 

HiLLCRisT.  [With  decision]  You  leave  it  to  me,  Mrs. 
Jackman.  Good  morning  !  Morning,  Jackman  !  Sorry 
I  can't  move  with  this  gout. 

Mrs.  J.  [For  them  both]  I'm  sure  we're  very  sorry, 
sir.  Good  morning,  sir.  Good  morning,  ma'am;  and 
thank  you  kindly.  [They  go  out. 

HiLLCRisT.  Turning  people  out  that  have  been  there 
thirty  years.     I  won't  have  it.     It's  a  breach  of  faith. 

Mrs.  H.  Do  you  suppose  this  Hornblower  will  care 
two  straws  about  that  Jack  ? 

Htllcrist.  He  must,  when  it's  put  to  him,  if  he's 
got  any  decent  feeling. 

Mrs.  H.  He  hasn't. 


12  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  i 

HiLLCRiST.  [Suddenly]  The  Jackmans  talk  of  his 
having  bought  the  Gentry  to  put  up  more  chimneys. 

Mrs.  H.  Never!  [At  the  window,  looking  out]  Im- 
possible !  It  would  ruin  the  place  utterly,  besides  cut- 
ting us  off  from  the  Duke's.  Oh,  no !  Miss  MuUins 
would  never  sell  behind  our  backs. 

HiLLCRiST.  Anyway  I  must  stop  his  turning  these 
people  out. 

Mrs.  H.  [With  a  little  smile,  almost  contemptiious] 
You  might  have  known  he'd  do  something  of  the  sort. 
You  will  imagine  people  are  like  yourself,  Jack.  You 
always  ought  to  make  Dawker  have  things  in  black 
and  white. 

HiLLCRiST.  I  said  quite  distinctly:  "Of  course  you 
won't  want  to  disturb  the  tenancies;  there's  a  great 
shortage  of  cottages."  Hornblower  told  me  as  dis- 
tinctly that  he  wouldn't.    What  more  do  you  want  ? 

Mrs.  H.  a  man  like  that  thinks  of  nothing  but  the 
short  cut  to  his  own  way.  [Looking  out  of  the  window 
towards  the  rise]  If  he  buys  the  Gentry  and  puts  up 
chimneys,  we  simply  couldn't  stop  here. 

HiLLCRiST.  My  father  would  turn  in  his  gi*ave. 

Mrs.  H.  It  would  have  been  more  useful  if  he'd  not 
dipped  the  estate,  and  sold  the  Gentry.  This  Horn- 
blower  hates  us;  he  thinks  we  turn  up  our  noses  at 
him. 

HiLLCRiST.  As  we  do,  Amy. 

Mrs.  H.  Who  wouldn't  .5*  A  man  without  tradi- 
tions, who  believes  in  nothing  but  money  and  push. 


ACT  I  THE  SKIN  GA:ME  13 

HiLLCRisT.  Suppose  he  won't  budge,  can  we  do  any- 
thing for  the  Jackmans  ? 

J^Ies.  H.  There  are  the  two  rooms  Beaver  used  to 
have,  over  the  stables.  [Fellows  enters. 

Fellows.  Mr.  Dawker,  sir. 

Dawkee  w  a  short,  square,  rather  red-faced 
terrier  of  a  man,  in  riding  clothes  and  gaiters. 

HiLLCRisT.  Ah !  Dawker,  I've  got  gout  again. 

Dawker.  Very  sorry,  sir.     How  de  do,  ma'am  ? 

HiLLCRisT.  Did  you  meet  the  Jackmans  ? 

Dawker.  Yeh. 

[He  hardly  ever  quite  finishes  a  wordy  seeming 
to  snap  off  their  tails, 

HiLLCRisT.  Then  you  heard  .^ 

Dawker.  [Nodding]  Smart  man,  Hornblower;  never 
lets  grass  grow. 

HiLLCRisT.  Smart  .^ 

Dawker.  [Griniiin^]  Don't  do  to  underrate  your 
neighbours. 

Mrs.  H.  a  cad— I  call  him. 

Davtker.  That's  it,  ma'am— got  all  the  advantage. 

HiLLCRisT.  Heard    anything    about    the    Gentry, 
Dawker  ? 

Dawker.  Hornblower  wants  to  buy. 

HiLLCRisT.  Miss  Mullins  would  never  sell,  would 
she.^ 

Dawker.  She  wants  to. 

HiLLCEisT.  The  deuce  she  does ! 

Dawker.  He  won't  stick  at  the  price  either. 

Mrs.  H.  WTiat's  it  worth,  Dawker .» 


14  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  i 

Dawker.  Depends  on  what  you  want  it  for. 

Mrs.  H.  He  wants  it  for  spite;  we  want  it  for  sen- 
timent. 

Dawker.  [Grinning]  Worth  what  you  like  to  give, 
then;  but  he's  a  rich  man. 

Mrs.  H.  Intolerable! 

Dawker.  [To  Hillcrist]  Give  me  your  figure,  sir. 
I'll  try  the  old  lady  before  he  gets  at  her. 

Hillcrist.  [Pondering]  I  don't  want  to  buy,  unless 
there's  nothing  else  for  it.  I  should  have  to  raise  the 
money  on  the  estate;  it  won't  stand  much  more.  I 
can't  believe  the  fellow  would  be  such  a  barbarian. 
Chimneys  within  three  hundred  yards,  right  in  front 
of  this  house !    It's  a  nightmare. 

Mrs.  H.  You'd  much  better  let  Dawker  make  sure. 
Jack. 

Hillcrist.  [Uncomfortable]  Jackman  says  Hornblow- 
er's  coming  round  to  see  me.     I  shall  put  it  to  him. 

Dawker.  Make  him  keener  than  ever.  Better  get 
in  first. 

Hillcrist.  Ape  his  methods ! — Ugh!  Confound  this 
gout !  [He  gets  back  to  his  chair  with  difficiUty]  Look 
here,  Dawker,  I  wanted  to  see  you  about  gates 

Fellows,  [Entering]  Mr.  Hornblower. 

HoRNBLowER  e7iters — a  man  of  medium  height, 
thoroughly  broadened,  blown  out,  as  it  were, 
by  success.  He  has  thick,  coarse,  dark  hair, 
just  grizzled,  very  bushy  eyebrows,  a  wide 
mouth.  Be  wears  quite  ordinary  clothes,  as 
if  that  department  were  in  charge  of  someone 


ACT  I 


THE  SKtN  GAIVIE 


15 


who  knew  about  »uch  things.  He  has  a  »mall 
rose  in  his  buttonhole,  and  carries  a  Horn- 
burg  hat,  which  one  suspects  will  look  too 
small  on  his  head. 
HoRNBLOWER.  Good  morning  !  good  morning  !  How 
are  ye,  Dawker  ?     Fine  morning  !     Lovely  weather ! 

His  vcnce  has  a  curious  blend  in  its  tone  of 
brass  and  oil,  and  an  accent  not  quite  Scotch 
nor  quite  North  country. 
Haven't  seen  ye  for  a  long  time,  HUlcrist. 

HrLLCRisT.  [Who  has  risen]  Not  since  I  sold  you 
Longmeadow  and  those  cottages,  I  believe. 

HoRNBLOWER.  Dear  me,  now!  that's  what  I  came 
about. 

HiLLCRisT.  [Subsiding  again  into  his  chair]  Forgive 
me !    Won't  you  sit  down  ? 

HoRXBLOWER.  [Not    sitting]  Have    ye    got    gout? 
That's  unfortunate.     I  never  get  it.     I've  no  disposi- 
tion that  way.    Had  no  ancestors,  you  see.     Just  me 
own  drinkin'  to  answer  for. 
Htllcrist.  You're  lucky. 

HoRNBLOWER.  I  wonder  if  Mrs.  HillcrLst  thinks 
that !  Am  I  lucky  to  have  no  past,  ma'am  ?  Just  the 
future  ? 

Mrs.  H.  You're  sure  you  have  the  future,  Mr. 
Hornblower  ? 

HoRXBLOWER.  [With  a  laugh]  That's  your  aristo- 
cratic rapier  thrust.  You  aristocrats  are  very  hard 
people  underneath  your  manners.  Ye  love  to  lay  a 
body  out.     But  I've  got  the  future  all  right. 


16  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  i 

HiLLCRiST.  [Meaningly]  I've  had  the  Jackmans  here, 
Mr.  Hornblower. 

HoRNBLOWER.  Who  are  they — man  with  the  little 
spitfire  wife  ?  ♦■? 

HiLLCRisT.  They're  very  excellent,  good  people,  and 
they've  been  in  that  cottage  quietly  thirty  years. 

Hornblower.  [Throwing  cmt  his  forefinger — a  favour- 
ite gesture]  Ah !  ye've  wanted  me  to  stir  ye  up  a  bit. 
Deepwater  needs  a  bit  o'  go  put  into  it.  There's  gen- 
erally some  go  where  I  am.  I  daresay  you  wish  there'd 
been  no  "come."  [He  laughs]. 
(?''■  Mrs.  H.  We  certainly  like  people  to  keep  their 
word,  Mr.  Hornblower. 

Hillcrist.  Amy! 

Hornblower.  Never  mind,  Hillcrist;  takes  more 
than  that  to  upset  me. 

Mrs.  Hillcrist  exchanges  a  look  unth  Daw- 
ker,  who  slips  out  unobserved. 

Hillcrist.  You  promised  me,  you  know,  not  to 
change  the  tenancies. 

Hornblow^er.  Well,  I've  come  to  tell  ye  that  I 
have.  I  wasn't  expecting  to  have  the  need  when  I 
bought.  Thought  the  Duke  would  sell  me  a  bit  down 
there;  but  devil  a  bit  he  will;  and  now  I  must  have 
those  cottages  for  my  workmen.  I've  got  important 
works,  ye  know. 

Hillcrist.  [Getting  heated]  The  Jackmans  have  their 
importance  too,  sir.    Their  heart's  in  that  cottage. 

Hornblower.  Have  a  sense  of  proportion,  man. 
My  works  supply  thousands  of  people,  and  mij  heart's 


ACT  I  THE  SKm  GAME  17 

in  them.  What's  more,  they  make  my  fortune.  IVe 
got  ambitions — I'm  a  serious  man.  Suppose  I  were 
to  consider  this  and  that,  and  every'  Uttle  potty  objec- 
tion— where  should  I  get  to  ? — nowhere ! 

HiLLCRiST.  All  the  same,  this  sort  of  thing  isn't 
done,  you  know. 

HoRXBLOWEH.  Not  bv  you  because  j'e've  got  no 
need  to  do  it.  Here  ye  are,  quite  content  on  what 
your  fathers  made  for  ye.  Ye've  no  ambitions;  and  ye 
want  other  people  to  have  none.  How  d'ye  think 
your  fathers  got  your  land  ? 

HiLLCRiST.  [Who  has  riseTi]  Not  by  breaking  their 
word. 

HoRXBLO^^TiR.  [Throxcing  out  his  finger]  Don't  ye 
beheve  it.  They  got  it  by  breaking  their  word  and 
tumin'  out  Jackmans,  if  that's  their  name,  all  over  the 
place. 

!Mrs.  H.  That's  an  insult,  "Mr.  Hornblower. 

HoRXBLOWER.  No;  it's  a  repartee.  If  ye  think  so 
much  of  these  Jackmans,  build  them  a  cottage  your- 
selves; ye've  got  the  space. 

HiLLCRiST.  That's  beside  the  point.  You  promised 
me,  and  I  sold  on  that  understanding. 

HoRXBLO'S^'ER.  And  I  bought  on  the  understandin' 
that  I'd  get  some  more  land  from  the  Duke. 

HiLLCRiST.  That's  nothing  to  do  with  me. 

HoRXBLOWER.  Yc'll  find  it  has;  because  I'm  going 
to  have  those  cottages. 

HiLLCRiST.  Well,  I  call  it  simply — 

[He  checks  himself. 


18  THE  SKm  GAME  act  i 

HoRNBLOWER.  Look  here,  Hillcrist,  ye've  not  had 
occasion  to  understand  men  like  me.  I've  got  the 
guts,  and  I've  got  the  money,  and  I  don't  sit  still  on 
it.  I'm  going  ahead  because  I  believe  in  meself.  I've 
no  use  for  sentiment  and  that  sort  of  thing.  Forty  of 
your  Jackmans  aren't  worth  me  little  finger. 

Hillcrist.  [Angry]  Of  all  the  blatant  things  I  ever 
heard  said ! 

HoRNBLOWER.  Well,  as  we're  speaking  plainly,  I've 
been  thinkin'.  Ye  want  the  village  run  your  old- 
fashioned  way,  and  I  want  it  run  mine.  I  fancy  there's 
not  room  for  the  two  of  us  here. 

Mrs.  H.  AMien  are  you  going  ? 

Horxblowt:r.  Never  fear,  I'm  not  going. 

Hillcrist.  Look  here,  IVir.  Hornblower— this  in- 
fernal gout  makes  me  irritable — puts  me  at  a  disad- 
vantage. But  I  should  be  glad  if  you'd  kmdly  explain 
yourself. 

Hornblower.  [With  a  great  smile]  Ca'  canny;  I'm 
fra'  the  North. 

Hillcrist.  I'm  told  you  wish  to  buy  the  Gentry 
and  put  more  of  your  chmineys  up  there,  regardless  of 
the  fact  [He  points  through  the  window]  that  it  would 
utterly  ruin  the  house  we've  had  for  generations,  and 
all  our  pleasure  here. 

Hornblower.  How  the  man  talks!  Why!  Ye'd 
think  he  owned  the  sky,  because  his  fathers  built  him 
a  house  v/ith  a  pretty  view,  where  he's  nothing  to  do 
but  live.  It's  sheer  want  of  something  to  do  that 
gives  ye  your  fine  sentiments,  Hillcrist. 


ACT  I  THE  SKIN  GAiVIE  19 

HiLLCRiST.  Have  the  goodness  not  to  charge  me 
with  idleness.  Dawker — where  is  he? — [He  shows  the 
bureau]  When  you  do  the  drudgery  of  your  works  as 

thoroughly  as  I  do  that  of  my  estate Is  it  true 

about  the  Gentry  ? 

HoRXBLowER.  Gospel  true.  If  ye  want  to  know, 
my  son  Chearlie  is  buym'  it  this  very  mmute. 

Mrs.  H.  [Turning  with  a  start]  AMiat  do  you  say.'* 

HoRNBLOWER.  Ay,  he's  with  the  old  lady;  she  wants 
to  sell,  an'  she'll  get  her  price,  whatever  it  is. 

HiLLCRisT.  [With  deep  a7iger]  If  that  isn't  a  skin 
game,  Mr.  Hornblower,  I  don't  know  what  is. 

HoRXBLOWER.  Ah!  Ye've  got  a  very  nice  expres- 
sion there.  "Skin  game  !"  Well,  bad  words  break  no 
bones,  an'  they're  wonderful  for  hardenin'  the  heart. 
If  it  wasn't  for  a  lady's  presence,  I  could  give  ye  a 
specimen  or  two. 

Mrs.  H.  Oh!  Mr.  Hornblower,  that  need  not  stop 
you,  I'm  sure. 

Hornblower.  Well,  and  I  don't  know  that  it  need. 
,Ye're  an  obstruction — the  like  of  you — ye're  in  my 
path.  And  anyone  in  my  path  doesn't  stay  there 
long;  or,  if  he  does,  he  stays  there  on  my  terms.  And 
my  terms  are  chimneys  in  the  Gentry  where  I  need 
'em.  It'll  do  ye  a  power  of  good,  too,  to  knov/  that 
ye're  not  almighty. 

HiLLCRiST.  And  that's  bemg  neighbourly ! 

Horxblow^er.  And  how  have  ye  tried  bein'  neigh- 
bourly to  me  .^  If  I  haven't  a  wife,  I've  got  a  daugh- 
ter-in-law.   Have  ye  called  on  her,  ma'am  ?    I'm  new. 


20  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  i 

and  ye're  an  old  family.  Ye  don't  like  me,  ye  think 
I'm  a  pushin'  man.  I  go  to  chapel,  an'  ye  don't  like 
that.  I  make  things  and  I  sell  them,  and  ye  don't 
like  that.  I  buy  land,  and  ye  don't  like  that.  It 
threatens  the  view  from  your  windies.  Well,  I  don't 
like  you,  and  I'm  not  goin'  to  put  up  with  your  atti- 
tude. Ye've  had  things  your  own  way  too  long,  and 
now  ye're  not  going  to  have  them  any  longer. 

HiLLCRiST.  Will  you  hold  to  your  word  over  those 
cottages  ? 

HoRNBLOwER.  I'm  gom'  to  have  the  cottages.  I 
need  them,  and  more  besides,  now  I'm  to  put  up  me 
new  works. 

HiLLCRisT.  That's  a  declaration  of  war. 

HoRNBLOWER.  Ye  never  said  a  truer  word.  It's 
one  or  the  other  of  us,  and  I  rather  think  it's  goin'  to 
be  me.  I'm  the  risin'  and  you're  the  settin'  sun,  as 
the  poet  says. 

HiLLCRiST.  [Touching  the  hell]  We  shall  see  if  you 
can  ride  rough-shod  like  this.  We  used  to  have  decent 
ways  of  going  about  things  here.  You  want  to  change 
all  that.  Well,  we  shall  do  our  damnedest  to  stop 
you.  [To  Fellows  at  the  door]  Are  the  Jackmans  still 
in  the  house  ?    Ask  them  to  be  good  enough  to  come  in. 

HoRNBLOWER.  [WUh  the  first  »ign  of  uneasiness]  I've 
seen  these  people.  I've  nothing  more  to  say  to  them. 
I  told  'em  I'd  give  'em  five  pounds  to  cover  their 
moving. 

HiLLCRiST.  It  doesn't  occui-  to  you  that  people, 
however  humble,  like  to  have  some  say  in  their  own 
fate.? 


ACT  I  THE  SKIN  GAME  21 

HoRXB LOWER.  I  never  had  any  say  in  mine  till  I 
had  the  brass,  and  nobody  ever  will.  It's  all  hj^oc- 
risy.  You  county  folk  are  fair  aw^ul  hypocrites.  Ye 
talk  about  good  form  and  all  that  sort  o'  thing.  It's 
just  the  comfortable  doctrine  of  the  man  in  the  saddle; 
sentimental  varnish.  Ye're  every  bit  as  hard  as  I  am, 
imderneath. 

Mrs.  H.  [Who  had  been  staiiding  very  still  all  this 
time]  You  flatter  us. 

HoRXBLOWER.  Not  at  all.  God  helps  those  who 
'elp  themselves — that's  at  the  bottom  of  all  religion. 
I'm  goin'  to  help  meself,  and  God's  going  to  help  me. 

[Mrs.  H.  I  admire  your  knowledge. 

HiLLCRiST.  We  are  in  the  right,  and  God  helps 

HoRXBLOWER.  Don't  ye  believe  it;  ye  'aven't  got 
the  energy. 

!Mrs.  H.  Nor  perhaps  the  conceit. 

HoRXBLOWER.  [Thwicing  oid  his  forefinger]  No,  no; 
'tisn't  conceit  to  believe  in  yourself  when  ye've  got 
reason  to.  [The  Jackmaxs  have  entered. 

HiLLCRisT.  I'm  very  sorry,  Mrs.  Jackman,  but  I 
just  wanted  you  to  realise  that  I've  done  my  best  with 
this  gentleman. 

Mrs.  J.  [DouhtfuUy]  Yes,  sir.  I  thought  if  you 
spoke  for  us,  he'd  feel  different-like. 

HoRX'BL-owER.  One  cottage  is  the  same  as  another, 
missis.  I  made  ye  a  fair  offer  of  five  pounds  for  the 
moving. 

Jackm-\x.  [Slowly]  We  wouldn't  take  fifty  to  go  out 
of  that  'ouse.  We  brought  up  three  children  there, 
an'  buried  two  from  it. 


2^  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  i 

Mrs.  J.  [To  Mrs.  Hillcrist]  We're  attached  to  it 
like,  ma'am. 

Hillcrist.  [To  Hornblower]  How  would  you  like 
being  turned  out  of  a  place  you  were  fond  of  ? 

Hornblower.  Not  a  bit.  But  little  considerations 
have  to  give  way  to  big  ones.  Now,  missis,  I'll  make 
it  ten  pounds,  and  I'll  send  a  wagon  to  shift  your 
things.  If  that  isn't  fair — !  Ye'd  better  accept,  I 
shan't  keep  it  open. 

The  Jackmans  look  at  each  other  ;  their  faces 
show  deep  anger — and  the  question  they  ask 
each  other  is  which  will  speak. 

Mrs.  J.  We  won't  take  it;  eh,  George  ? 

Jackman.  Not  a  farden.  We  come  there  when  we 
was  married. 

Hornblower.  [Throwing  out  his  finger]  Ye're  very 
improvident  folk. 

Hillcrist.  Don't  lecture  them,  Mr.  Hornblower; 
they  come  out  of  this  miles  above  you. 

Hornblower.  [Angry]  Well,  I  wo^  going  to  give  ye 
another  week,  but  ye'll  go  out  next  Saturday;  and  take 
care  ye're  not  late,  or  your  things'U  be  put  out — in 
the  rain. 

Mrs.  H.  [To  Mrs.  Jackman]  We'll  send  down  for 
your  things,  and  you  can  come  to  us  for  the  time  being. 
Mrs.  Jackman  drops  a  curtsey  ;  her  eyes  stab 
Hornblower. 

Jackman.  [Heavily y  clenching  his  fists]  You're  no 
gentleman !  Don't  put  temptation  in  my  way,  that's 
all. 


ACT  I  THE  SKIN  GA:ME  23 

HiLLCRisT.  [In  a  low  voice]  Jackman ! 

HoRNBLOWER.  [Triumphantly]  Ye  hear  that?  That's 
your  protegee !  Keep  out  o'  my  way,  me  man,  or  I'll 
put  the  police  on  to  ye  for  utterin'  threats. 

HiLLCRisT.  You'd  better  go  now,  Jackman. 

[The  Jackm.\xs  move  to  the  door. 

^Ies.  J.  [Turning]  Maybe  you'll  repent  it  some  day, 
sir.  [They  go  out,  Mrs.  Hillcrist  following. 

HoRNBLOWER.  We — ell,  I'm  sorry  they're  such  un- 
reasonable folk.  I  never  met  people  with  less  notion 
of  which  side  their  bread  was  buttered. 

Hillcrist.  And  I  never  met  anyone  so  pachyder- 
matous. 

HoRXBLowER.  ^^^lat's  that,  in  Heaven's  name  ^  Ye 
needn'  wrap  it  up  in  long  words  now  your  good  lady's 
gone. 

Hillcrist.  [With  dignity]  I'm  not  going  in  for  a 
slanging  match.  I  resent  your  conduct  much  too 
deeply. 

HoRNBLOWER.  Look  here,  Hillcrist,  I  don't  object 
to  you  personally;  ye  seem  to  me  a  poor  creature  that's 
bound  to  get  left  with  your  gout  and  your  dignity; 
but  of  course  ye  can  make  yourself  very  disagreeable 
before  ye're  done.  Now  I  want  to  be  the  movin' 
spirit  here.  I'm  full  of  plans.  I'm  goin'  to  stand  for 
Parliament;  I'm  goin'  to  make  this  a  prosperous  place. 
I'm  a  good-natured  man  if  you'll  treat  me  as  such. 
Now,  you  take  me  on  as  a  neighbour  and  all  that,  and 
I'll  manage  without  chimneys  on  the  Gentry.  Is  it  a 
bargain.'*  [He  holds  out  his  hand. 


24  THE  SKIN  GAIVIE  act  i 

HtLLCEisT.  [Ignoring  it]  I  thought  you  said  you 
didn't  keep  your  word  when  it  suited  you  to  break  it  ? 

HoRNBLowEH.  Now,  dou't  get  on  the  high  horse. 
You  and  me  could  be  very  good  friends;  but  I  can  be 
a  very  nasty  enemy.  The  chimneys  will  not  look  nice 
from  that  windie,  ye  know. 

HiLLCEiST.  [Deeply  angry]  Mr.  Hornblower,  if  you 
think  I'll  take  your  hand  after  this  Jackman  business, 
you're  greatly  mistaken.  You  are  proposing  that  I 
shall  stand  in  with  you  while  you  tyrannise  over  the 
neighbourhood.  Please  realise  that  unless  you  leave 
those  tenancies  undisturbed  as  you  said  you  would,  we 
don't  know  each  other. 

Hornblower.  Well,  that  won't  trouble  me  much. 
Now,  ye'd  better  think  it  over;  ye've  got  gout  and 
that  makes  ye  hasty.  I  tell  ye  again:  I'm  not  the  man 
to  make  an  enemy  of.  Unless  ye're  friendly,  sure  as 
I  stand  here  Fll  ruin  the  look  of  your  place. 

[The  loot  of  a  car  is  heard. 
There's  my  car.  I  sent  Chearlie  and  his  wife  in  it  to 
buy  the  Gentry.  And  make  no  mistake — he's  got  it 
in  his  pocket.  It's  your  last  chance,  HUlcrist.  I'm 
not  averse  to  you  as  a  man;  I  think  ye're  the  best  of 
the  fossils  round  here;  at  least,  I  think  ye  can  do  me 
the  most  harm  socially.     Come  now ! 

[He  holds  out  his  hand  again. 

Htllcrist.  Not  if  you'd  bought  the  Gentry  ten 
times  over.  Your  ways  are  not  mine,  and  I'll  have 
nothing  to  do  with  you. 

HoRXBLOWER.  [Very  angry]  Really!  Is  that  so? 
Very  well.     Now  ye're  goin'  to  learn  something,  an' 


ACT  I  THE  SKIN  GAME  £5 

it's  time  ye  did.  D'ye  realise  that  I'm  very  nearly 
round  ye?  [He  draivs  a  circle  slowly  in  the  air]  I'm  at 
Uphill,  the  works  are  here,  here's  Longmeadow,  here's 
the  Gentry  that  I've  just  bought,  there's  only  the 
Common  left  to  give  ye  touch  with  the  world.  Now 
between  you  and  the  Common  there's  the  high  road. 
I  come  out  on  the  high  road  here  to  your  north,  and  I 
shall  come  out  on  it  there  to  your  west.  When  I've 
got  me  new  works  up  on  the  Centry,  I  shall  be  makin' 
a  trolley  track  between  the  works  up  to  the  road  at 
both  ends,  so  my  goods  will  be  running  right  round  ye. 
How'll  ye  like  that  for  a  country  place  ? 

For  answer  Hlllcrist,  who  is  angry  beyond 
the  power  of  s^peech,  icalks,  forgetting  to  use 
his  stick,  up  to  the  French  window.  While 
he  stands  there,  with  his  hack  to  Horn- 
blower,  the  door  L.  is  flung  open,  and  Jill 
enters,  preceding  Charles,  his  wife  Chloe, 
and  Rolf.  Charles  is  a  goodish-looking, 
moustached  young  man  of  about  twenty-eight, 
with  a  white  rim  to  the  collar  of  his  waistcoat, 
and  spats.  He  has  his  hand  behind  Chloe's 
back,  as  if  to  prevent  her  turning  tail.  She 
is  rather  a  handsome  young  woman,  with 
dark  eyes,  full  red  lips,  and  a  suspicion  of 
powder,  a  little  under-dressed  for  the  country. 
Rolf,  who  brings  up  the  rear,  is  about  twenty, 
with  an  open  face  and  stiff ish  butter-coloured 
hair.  Jill  run^  over  to  her  father  at  the 
window.  She  has  a  bottle. 
Jill.  [Sotio  voce]  Look,  Dodo,  I've  brought  the  lot ! 


26  THE   SKIN  GAME  act  i 

Isn't  it  a  treat,  dear  Papa?    And  here's  the  stuflF. 
Hallo! 

The  exclamation  is  induced  by  the  apprehension 
that  there  has  been  a  row.     Hillcrist  gives 
a  stiff  little  bow^  remaining  where  he  is  in  the 
window.    Jill  stays  close  to  him,   staring 
from  one  to  the  other,  then  blocks  him  off  and 
engages  him  in  conversation.     Charles  has 
gone  up  to  his  father,   who  has  remained 
maliciously  still,  where  he  delivered  his  last 
speech.  Chloe  and  Rolf  stand  awkwardly 
waiting  between  the  fireplace  and  the  door. 
Hornblower.  Well,  Chearlie? 
Charles.  Not  got  it. 
Hornblower.  Not  I 

Charles.  I'd  practically  got  her  to  say  she'd  sell  at 
three  thousand  five  hundred,  when  that  fellow  Dawker 
turned  up. 

Hornblower.  That  bull-terrier  of  a  chap!  Why, 
he  was  here  a  while  ago.     Oh — ho !    So  that's  it ! 

Charles.  I  heard  him  gallop  up.  He  came  straight 
for  the  old  lady,  and  got  her  away.  What  he  said  I 
don't  know;  but  she  came  back  looking  wiser  than  an 
owl;  said  she'd  think  it  over,  thought  she  had  other 
views. 

Hornblower.  Did  ye  tell  her  she  might  have  her 
price .? 

Charles.  Practically  I  did. 

Hornblower.  Well.?* 

Charles.  She  thought  it  would  be  fairer  to  put  it 


ACT  I  THE  SKIN  GAME  27 

up  to  auction.  There  were  other  enquhies.  Oh ! 
She's  a  leery  old  bird — reminds  me  of  one  of  those  pic- 
tures of  Fate,  don't  you  know. 

HoRNBLOT^iiR.  Auction  !  Well,  if  it's  not  gone  we'll 
get  it  yet.  That  damned  little  Dawker !  I've  had  a 
row  with  Hillcrist. 

Charles.  I  thought  so. 

They  are  turning  cautiously  to  look  at  E^ll- 
CRisT,  when  Jill  steps  forward . 

Jill.  [Flushed  and  determinedl  That's  not  a  bit 
sporting  of  you,  Mr.  Hornblower. 

[At  her  icords  Rolf  comes  forward  too. 

Hornblower.  Ye  should  hear  both  sides  before  ye 
say  that,  missy. 

Jill.  There  isn't  another  side  to  turning  out  the 
Jackmans  after  you'd  promised. 

Hornblower.  Oh !  dear  me,  j^es.  They  don't  mat- 
ter a  row  of  gingerbread  to  the  schemes  I've  got  for 
betterin'  this  neighbourhood. 

Jill.  I  had  been  standing  up  for  you;  now  I  won't. 

HoRNBLOw*ER.  Dear,  dear !    ^^^lat'll  become  of  me  ? 

Jill.  I  won't  say  anything  about  the  other  thing 
because  I  think  it's  beneath  dignity  to  notice  it.  But 
to  turn  poor  people  out  of  their  cottages  is  a  shame. 

Hornblower.  Hoity  me ! 

Rolf.  [Suddeidy]  You  haven't  been  doing  that, 
father  ? 

Charles.  Shut  up,  Rolf ! 

Hornblower.  [Turning  on  Rolf]  Ha!  Here's  a 
league  o'  youth!     My  young  whipper-snapper,  keep 


28  THE   SKIN   GAME  act  i 

your  mouth  shut  and  leave  it  to  your  elders  to  know 
what's  right. 

Under  the  weight  of  this  rejoinder  Rolf  stands 
biting  his  lips.     Then  he  throws  his  head  up. 

Rolf.  I  hate  it ! 

HoRNBLOWER.  [With  real  venom]  Oh!  Ye  hate  it.^^ 
Ye  can  get  out  of  my  house,  then. 

Jill.  Free  speech,  Mr.  Hornblower;  don't  be  vio- 
lent. 

HoRXBLOWER.  Yc'rc  right,  young  lady.  Ye  can 
stay  in  my  house,  Rolf,  and  learn  manners.  Come, 
Chearlie ! 

Jill.  [Quite  softly]  IVIr.  Hornblower  ! 

HiLLCRisT.  [From  the  window]  Jill ! 

Jill.  [Impatiently]  Well,  what's  the  good  of  it.^ 
Life's  too  short  for  rows,  and  too  jolly ! 

Rolf.  Bravo! 

Hornblower.  [Who  has  shown  a  sign  of  weakening] 
Now,  look  here !  I  will  not  have  revolt  in  my  family. 
Ye'll  just  have  to  learn  that  a  man  who's  worked  as 
I  have,  who's  risen  as  I  have,  and  who  knows  the 
world,  is  the  proper  judge  of  what's  right  and  wrong. 
I'll  answer  to  God  for  me  actions,  and  not  to  you  yoimg 
people. 

Jill.  Poor  God ! 

Hornblower.  [Genuinely  shocked]  Ye  blasphemous 
young  thing!  [To  Rolf]  And  ye're  just  as  bad,  ye 
young  freethinker.     I  won't  have  it. 

Hillcrist.  [Who  has  come  down.  Right]  Jill,  I  wish 
you  would  kindly  not  talk. 

Jill.  I  can't  help  it. 


ACT  I  THE  SKIN  GA:\IE  29 

Charles.  [Putting  his  arm  through  Hornblower's] 
Come  along,  father !     Deeds,  not  words. 
HoRXBLowER.  Ay!    Deeds! 

Mrs.  Hillcrist  and  Dawker  have  entered  by 
tJie  Frejich  window. 
Mrs.  H.  Quite  right ! 

[They  all  turn  and  look  at  her. 
HoRXBLOWER.  Ah!    So  ye  put  your  dog  on  to  it. 
[He  throws  out  his  finger  at  Dawker]  Very  smart,  that 
— I  give  ye  credit. 

Mrs.  H.  [Pointhig  to  Chloe,  who  has  stood  by  her- 
self, forgotten  and  uncomfortable  throughout  the  scene] 
May  I  ask  who  this  lady  is  .'* 

Chloe  turns  round  startled,  and  her  vanity  bag 
slips  down  her  dress  to  the  floor. 
HoRNBLOWER.  No,  ma'am,  ye  may  not,  for  ye  know 
perfectly  well. 

Jill.  I  brought  her  in,  mother  [She  moves  to  Chloe's 
side]. 

Mrs.  H.  Will  you  take  her  out  again,  then. 
Hillcrist.  Amy,    have    the    goodness    to    remem- 
ber  

Mrs.  H.  That  this  is  my  house  so  far  as  ladies  are 
concerned. 
Jill.  Mother! 

She  looks  astonished  at  Chloe,  who,  about  to 
speak,  does  not,  passing  her  eyes,  loith  a  queer, 
half-scared  expression,  from  Mrs.  Hillcrist 
to  Dawker. 
[To  Chloe]  I'm  awfully  sorry.     Come  on ! 

[They  go  out.  Left.     Rolf  hurries  after  them,. 


30  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  i 

Charles.  You've  insulted  my  wife.  WTiy?  What 
do  you  mean  by  it  ? 

[Mrs.  EQllcbist  simply  smiles. 

HiLLCRisT.  I  apologise.  I  regret  extremely.  There 
is  no  reason  why  the  ladies  of  your  family  or  of  mine 
should  be  involved  in  our  quarrel.  For  Heaven's  sake, 
let's  fight  liJke  gentlemen. 

HoRNBLowER.  Catchwords — sneers!  No;  we'll  play 
what  ye  call  a  skin  game,  Hillcrist,  without  gloves  on; 
we  won't  spare  each  other.  Ye  look  out  for  yourselves, 
for,  iDegod,  after  this  morning  I  mean  business.  And 
as  for  you,  Dawker,  ye  sly  dog,  ye  think  yourself  very 
clever;  but  I'll  have  the  Gentry  yet.  Come,  Chearlie ! 
They  go  ouU  passing  Jill,  who  is  coming  in 
again,  in  the  doorway. 

Hillcrist.  Well,  Dawker.^ 

Dawker.  {Grinning]  Safe  for  the  moment.  The  old 
lady'll  put  it  up  to  auction.  Couldn't  get  her  to  budge 
from  that.  Says  she  don't  want  to  be  unneighbourly 
to  either.     But,  if  you  ask  me,  it's  money  she  smells ! 

Jill.  [Advancing]  Now,  mother! 

Mrs.  H.  Well? 

Jill.  Why  did  you  insult  her .'' 

Mrs.  H.  I  think  I  only  asked  you  to  take  her  out. 

Jill.  Why.?*  Even  if  she  is  Old  Combustion's 
daughter-in-law  ? 

Mrs.  H.  My  dear  Jill,  allow  me  to  judge  the  sort 
of  acquaintances  I  wish  to  make.  [She  looks  at  Dawker. 

Jill.  She's  all  right.  Lots  of  women  powder  and 
touch  up  their  lips  nowadays.  I  think  she's  rather  a 
good  sort;  she  was  awfully  upset. 


ACT  I  THE   SKIN   GAME  SI 

Mrs.  H.  Too  upset. 

Jill.  Oh !  don't  be  so  mysterious,  mother.  If  you 
know  somethmg,  do  spit  it  out ! 

:Mrs.  H.  Do  you  wish  me  to — er — "spit  it  out," 
Jack? 

HiLLCRiST.  Dawker,  if  you  don't  mind 

Dawker,  loiih  a  nod,  parses  away  out  of  the 
French  mindoic. 
Jill,  be  respectful,  and  don't  talk  like  a  bargee. 

Jill.  It's  no  good.  Dodo.  It  made  me  ashamed. 
It's  just  as — as  caddish  to  insult  people  who  haven't 
said  a  word,  in  youi  own  house,  as  it  is  to  be — old 
Homblower. 

]Mrs.  H.  You  don't  know  what  you're  talking 
about. 

HiLLCRiST.  What's  the  matter  with  young  Mrs. 
Homblower  ? 

liiRS.  H.  Excuse  me,  I  shall  keep  my  thoughts  to 
myself  at  present. 

She  looks  coldly  at  Jill,  a?id  goes  out  through 
the  French  icindow. 

HiLLCRiST.  You've  thoroughly  upset  your  mother, 
Jill. 

Jill.  It's  something  Dawker's  told  her;  I  saw  them. 
I  don't  like  Dawker,  father,  he's  so  common. 

HiLLCRisT.  My  dear,  we  can't  all  be  uncommon. 
He's  got  lots  of  go.  You  must  apologise  to  your 
mother. 

Jill.  [Shaking  her  clubbed  hair]  They'll  make  you 
do  things  you  don't  approve  of.  Dodo,  if  you  don't 
look  out.     Mother's  fearfully  bitter  when  she  gets  her 


32  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  i 

knife  in.  If  old  Hornblower's  disgusting,  it's  no  reason 
we  should  be. 

HiLLCRisT.  So  you  think  I'm  capable — that's  nice, 
Jill! 

Jill.  No,  no,  darling !  I  only  want  to  warn  you 
solemnly  that  mother'll  tell  you  you're  fighting  fair, 
no  matter  what  she  and  Dawker  do. 

HiLLCRisT.  [Smiling]  Jill,  I  don't  think  I  ever  saw 
you  so  serious. 

Jill.  No.  Because — [She  swalloivs  a  lump  in  her 
throat]  Well — I  was  just  beginning  to  enjoy  myself; 
and  now — everything's  going  to  be  bitter  and  beastly, 
with  mother  in  that  mood.  That  horrible  old  man ! 
Oh,  Dodo !  Don't  let  them  make  you  horrid !  You're 
such  a  darling.    How's  your  gout,  ducky  .^ 

HiLLCRisT.  Better;  lot  better. 

Jill.  There,  you  see!  That  shows!  It's  going  to 
be  half  interesting  for  you,  but  not  for — us. 

HiLLCRisT.  Look  here,  Jill — is  there  anything  be- 
tween you  and  young  what's-his-name — Rolf.? 

Jill.  [Biting  her  Up]  No.  But — now  it's  all 
spoiled. 

HiLLCRisT.  You  can't  expect  me  to  regret  that. 

Jill.  I  don't  mean  any  tosh  about  love's  young 
dream;  but  I  do  like  being  friends.  I  want  to  enjoy 
things.  Dodo,  and  you  can't  do  that  when  everybody's 
on  the  hate.  You're  going  to  wallow  in  it,  and  so 
shall  I — oh !  I  know  I  shall ! — we  shall  all  wallow,  and 
think  of  nothing  but  *'one  for  his  nob." 

HiLLCRisT.  Aren't  you  fond  of  your  home  ? 

Jill.  Of  course.    I  love  it. 


ACT  I  THE  SKIN  GAME  33 

HiLLCRisT.  Well,  you  won't  be  able  to  live  in  it 
unless  we  stop  that  ruffian.  Chimneys  and  smoke, 
the  trees  cut  down,  piles  of  pots.  Every  kind  of 
abomination.  There!  [Hepoi7its]  Imagine!  [He points 
through  the  French  window,  as  if  he  could  see  those  chim- 
7ieys  rising  and  marring  the  beauty  of  the  fields]  1  was 
born  here,  and  my  father,  and  his,  and  his,  and  his. 
They  loved  those  fields,  and  those  old  trees.  And  this 
barbarian,  with  his  "improvement"  schemes,  forsooth  ! 
I  learned  to  ride  in  the  Gentry  meadows — prettiest 
spring  meadows  in  the  world;  I've  climbed  every  tree 

there,     ^\^ly    my    father    ever    sold !     But    who 

could  have  imagined  this.^     And  come  at  a  bad  mo- 
ment, when  money's  scarce. 
Jill.  [Cuddling  his  arm]  Dodo ! 
HiLLCRiST.  Yes.     But  you  don't  love  the  place  as 
I  do,   Jill.     You  youngsters   don't  love  anything,   I 
sometimes  think. 

Jill.  I  do.  Dodo,  I  do ! 

HiLLCRisT.  You've  got  it  all  before  you.  But  you 
may  live  your  life  and  never  find  anything  so  good  and 
so  beautiful  as  this  old  home.  I'm  not  going  to  have 
it  spoiled  without  a  fight. 

Conscious  of  having  betrayed  sentiment,  he  walks 
out  at  the  French  window,  passing  away  to 
the  Right.  Jill,  following  to  the  vnndow, 
looks.  Then  throwing  back  her  head,  she 
clasps  her  hands  behind  it, 
Jill.  Oh — oh — oh! 

A  voice  behind  her  says,  "Jill!"     5^  turns 
and  starts  back,  leaning  against  the  right  tin- 


34  THE   SKIN   GAME  act  i 

tel  of  the  vnndow.     Rolf  appears  outside 
the  windoio  from  Left, 
Who  goes  there  ? 

Rolf.  [Buttressed  against  the  Left  lintel]  Enemy — 
after  Chloe's  bag. 

Jill.  Pass,  enemy !    And  all's  ill ! 

Rolf  passes  through  the  window,  and  retrieves 
the  vanity  bag  from  the  floor  where  Chloe 
dropped  it,  then  again  takes  his  stand  against 
the  Left  lintel  of  the  French  window. 

Rolf.  It's  not  gomg  to  make  any  difference,  is  it.^ 

Jell.  You  know  it  is. 

Rolf.  Sins  of  the  fathers. 

Jill.  Unto  the  third  and  fourth  generations.  What 
sin  has  my  father  committed  ? 

Rolf.  None,  in  a  way;  only,  I've  often  told  you  I 
don't  see  why  you  should  treat  us  as  outsiders.  We 
don't  like  it. 

Jill.  Well,  you  shouldn't  be,  then;  I  mean,  he 
shouldn't  be. 

Rolf.  Father's  just  as  human  as  your  father;  he's 
wrapped  up  in  us,  and  all  his  "getting  on"  is  for  us. 
Would  you  like  to  be  treated  as  your  mother  treated 
Chloe?  Your  mother's  set  the  stroke  for  the  other 
big-wigs  about  here;  nobody  calls  on  Chloe.  And  why 
not?  Why  not?  I  think  it's  contemptible  to  bar 
people  just  because  they're  new,  as  you  call  it,  and  have 
to  make  their  position  instead  of  having  it  I'^ft  them. 

Jill.  It's  not  because  they're  new,  it's  because — if 
your  father  behaved  like  a  gentleman,  he'd  be  treated 
like  one. 


ACT  I  THE  SKIN  GAME  35 

Rolf.  Would  he  ?  I  don't  believe  it.  My  father's 
a  very  able  man;  he  thinks  he's  entitled  to  have  influ- 
ence here.  Well,  everybody  tries  to  keep  him  do^Ti. 
Oh!  yes,  they  do.  That  makes  him  mad  and  more 
determined  than  ever  to  get  his  way.  You  ought  to 
be  just,  Jill. 

Jill.  I  am  just. 

Rolf.  No,  you're  not.  Besides,  what's  it  got  to  do 
vvith  Charlie  and  Chloe.^  Chloe's  particularly  harm- 
less. It's  pretty  sickening  for  her.  Father  didn't  ex- 
pect people  to  call  until  Charlie  married,  but  since 

Jill.  I  think  it's  all  very  petty. 

Rolf.  It  is — a  dog-in-the-manger  business;  I  did 
think  you  were  above  it. 

Jill.  How  would  you  like  to  have  your  home  spoiled  ? 

Rolf.  I'm  not  gomg  to  argue.  Only  thmgs  don't 
stand  still.  Homes  aren't  any  more  proof  against 
change  than  anything  else. 

Jill.  All  right !    You  come  and  try  and  take  ours. 

Rolf.  We  don't  want  to  take  your  home. 

Jill.  Like  the  Jackmans'  ? 

Rolf.  All  right.    I  see  you're  hopelessly  prejudiced. 

[He  turns  to  go. 

Jill.  [Just  as  he  is  vanishing — softly]  Enemy  ? 

Rolf.  [Turning]  Yes,  enemy. 

Jill.  Before  the  battle — let's  shake  hands. 

They  move  from  the  lintels  and  grasp  each 
other  s  hands  in  the  centre  of  the  French 
window. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 


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ACT    II 

SCENE  I 

A  billiard  room  in  a  provincial  hotel,  ivhere  things  are 
bought  and  sold.  The  scene  is  set  icell  forward, 
and  is  not  very  broad ;  it  represents  the  auctioneer's 
end  of  the  room,  having,  rather  to  stage  Left,  a  narrow 
table  icith  two  chairs  facing  the  audience,  where  the 
auctioneer  will  sit  and  stajid.  The  table,  which  is 
set  forward  to  the  footlights,  is  littered  with  green- 
covered  particulars  of  sale.  The  audience  are  in 
effect  public  and  bidders.  There  is  a  door  on  the 
Left,  level  with  the  table.  Along  the  back  wall,  behind 
the  table,  are  two  raised  benches  with  two  steps  up  to 
them,  such  as  billiard  rooms  often  have,  divided  by 
a  door  in  the  middle  of  a  wall,  which  is  panelled  in 
oak.  Late  September  sunlight  is  coming  from  a 
skylight  (not  visible)  on  to  these  seats.  The  stage  is 
empty  when  the  curtain  goes  up,  but  Dawker  and 
Mrs.  Hillcrist  are  just  entering  through  the  door 
at  the  back. 

Dawker.  Be  out  of  their  way  here,  ma'am.     See  old 
Hornblower   with   Chearlie? 

[He  points  down  to  the  audience. 


40  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  ii 

Mrs.  H.  It  begins  at  three,  doesn't  it? 

Dawker.  They  won't  be  over-punctual;  there's  only 
the  Gentry  selling.  There's  young  jMts.  Hornblower 
with  the  other  boy — [Pointing]  over  at  the  entrance. 
I've  got  that  chap  I  told  you  of  down  from  town. 

Mrs.  H.  Ah !  make  sure  quite  of  her,  Dawker.  Any 
mistake  would  be  fatal. 

Dawker.  [Nodding]  That's  right,  ma'am.  Lot  of 
people — always  spare  time  to  watch  an  auction — ever 
remark  that.'*  The  Duke's  agent's  here;  shouldn't  be 
surprised  if  he  chipped  in. 

Mrs.  H.  Where  did  j^ou  leave  my  husband.? 

Dawker.  With  Miss  Jill,  in  the  courtyard.  He's 
coming  to  you.  In  case  I  miss  him,  tell  him  when  I 
reach  his  limit  to  blow  his  nose  if  he  wants  me  to  go 
on;  when  he  blows  it  a  second  time,  I'll  stop  for  good. 
Hope  we  shan't  get  to  that.  Old  Hornblower  doesn't 
throw  his  money  away. 

Mrs.  H.  What  limit  did  you  settle  ? 

Dawker.  Six  thousand! 

Mrs.  H.  That's  a  fearful  price.  Well,  good  luck  to 
you,  Dawker ! 

Dawker.  Good  luck,  ma'am.  I'll  go  and  see  to 
that  little  matter  of  Mrs.  Chloe.  Never  fear,  we'll  do 
them  in  somehow. 

He  winks,  lays  his  finger  on  the  side  of  his  nose, 

and  goes  out  at  the  door. 
Mrs.  Hillcrist  mounts  the  two  stepSy  sits  dotvn 
Right  of  the  door,  and  put^  up   a   pair  of 
long-handled  glasses.     Through  the  door  be- 


sc.  I  THE  SKIN  GA:\rE  41 

hind  her  come  Chloe  and  Rolf.  She  makes 
a  sign  for  him  to  go,  and  shuts  the  door. 

Chloe.  [At  the  foot  of  the  steps — in  the  gangway — in 
a  slightly  common  accent]  Mrs.  Hillcrist ! 

IVIrs.  H.  [Xot  quite  starting]  I  beg  your  pardon? 

Chloe.  [AgaiJi]  ]Mrs.  Hillcrist 

Mrs.  H.  WeU.5 

Chloe.  I  never  did  you  any  harm. 

Mrs.  H.  Did  I  ever  say  you  did.^ 

Chloe.  No;  but  you  act  as  if  I  had. 

IVIrs.  H.  I'm  not  aware  that  I've  acted  at  all — as 
yet.  You  are  nothing  to  me,  except  as  one  of  your 
family. 

Chole.  'Tisn't  I  that  wants  to  spoil  your  home. 

Mrs.  H.  Stop  them  then.  I  see  your  husband  do^vTi 
there  with  his  father. 

Chloe.  I — I  have  tried. 

Mrs.  H.  [Looking  at  her]  Oh !  I  suppose  such  men 
don't  pay  attention  to  what  women  ask  them. 

Chloe.  [With  a  flash  of  spirit]  I'm  fond  of  my  hus- 
band.    I 

Mrs.  H.  [Looking  at  her  steadily]  I  don't  quite  know 
why  you  spoke  to  me. 

Chloe.  [With  a  sort  of  pathetic  sitUenriess]  I  only 
thought  perhaps  you'd  like  to  treat  me  as  a  human 
being. 

^Irs.  H.  Really,  if  you  don't  mind,  I  should  like  to 
be  left  alone  just  now. 

Chloe.  [U7ihappily  acquiescent]  CertaLmiyl  I'll  go  to 
the  other  end. 


42  THE  SKIN   GAME  act  ii 

She  moves  to  the  Left,  inounts  the  steps  and  sits 

down. 
Rolf,  looking  in  through  the  door,  and  seeing 
where  she  is,  joins  her.    Mrs.  Hillcrist  re- 
settles herself  a  little  further  in  on  the  Right. 
Rolf.  [Bending  over  to  Chloe,  after  a  glance  at  Mrs. 
Hillcrist]  Are  you  all  right  .^ 
Chloe.  It's  awfully  hot. 

She  fans  herself  with  the  particulars  of  sale. 
Rolf.  There's  Dawker.     I  hate  that  chap ! 
Chloe.  WTiere.^ 
Rolf.  Down  there;  see.^ 

He  points  down  to  stage  Right  of  the  room. 
Chloe.  [Draiving  back  in  her  seat  with  a  little  gasp] 
Oh! 

Rolf.  [Not  noticing]  Who's  that  next  him,  looking 
up  here  ? 

Chloe.  I  don't  know. 

She  has  raised  her  auction  programme  suddenly, 
and  sits  fanning  herself,  car ef idly  screening 
her  face. 
Rolf.  [Looking  at  her]  Don't  you  feel  well?     Shall 
I  get  you  some  water  ?  [He  gets  up  at  her  nod. 

As  he  reaches  the  door,  Hillcrist  and  Jill 
come  in.    Hillcrist  passes  him  abstractedly 
with  a  nod,  and  sits  down  beside  his  wife. 
Jill.  [To  Rolf]  Come  to  see  us  turned  out.'' 
Rolf.  [Emphatically]  No.     I'm  looking  after  Chloe; 
she's  not  well. 

Jill.  [Glancing    at    her]  Sorry.     She    needn't    have 
come,  I  suppose  ?    [Rolf  deigns  no  anstoer,  and  goes  out. 


sc.  I  THE  SKIN  GAME  43 

Jill  glances  at  Chloe,  then  at  her  parents  talk- 
ing in  low  voices,  and  sits  down  next  her 
father,  who  makes  room  for  her. 

Mrs.  H.  Can  Dawker  see  you  there,  Jack? 

[Hillcrist  nods. 
AMiat's  the  time  ? 

Hillcrist.  Three  minutes  to  three. 

Jill.  Don't  you  feel  beastly  all  down  the  backs  of 
your  legs,  Dodo  ? 

Hillcrist.  Yes. 

Jill.  Do  you,  mother  ? 

Mrs.  H.  No. 

Jill.  A  wagon  of  old  Hornblower's  pots  passed  while 
we  were  in  the  yard.     It's  an  omen. 

Mrs.  H.  Don't  be  foolish,  Jill. 

Jill.  Look  at  the  old  brute !     Dodo,  hold  my  hand. 

Mrs.  H.  Make  sure  you've  got  a  handkerchief,  Jack. 

Hillcrist.  I  can't  go  beyond  the  six  thousand;  I 
shall  have  to  raise  every  penny  on  mortgage  as  it  is. 
The  estate  simply  won't  stand  more,  Amy. 

He  feels  in  his  breast  pocket,  and  pulls  up  the 
edge  of  his  handkerchief. 

Jill.  Oh!  Look!  There's  Miss  MuUins,  at  the 
back;  just  come  in.     Isn't  she  a  spidery  old  chip  ? 

Mrs.  H.  Come  to  gloat.  Really,  I  think  her  not 
accepting  your  offer  is  disgusting.  Her  impartiality  is 
all  humbug. 

Hillcrist.  Can't  blame  her  for  getting  what  she 
can — it's  human  nature.  Phew!  I  used  to  feel  like 
this  before  a  viva  voce.    "VMio's  that  next  to  Dawker? 

Jill.  WTiat  a  fish ! 


44  THE  SKIN   GAME  act  ii 

Mrs.  H.  [To  herself]  Ah !  yes. 

Her  eyes  slide  round  at  Chloe,  sitting  motion- 
less and  rather  sunk  in  her  seat,  slowly  fan- 
ning herself  with  the  particulars  of  the  sale. 
Jack,  go  and  offer  her  my  smellmg  salts. 

HiLLCRisT.  [Taking  tJie  salts]  Thank  God  for  a 
human  touch ! 

Mrs.  H.  [Taken  aback]  Oh!  I 

Jill.  [With  a  quick  look  at  her  mother,  snatching  the 
salts]  I  will.  [She  goes  over  to  Chloe  vnth  the  salts]  Have 
a  sniff;  j^ou  look  awfully  white. 

Chloe.  [Looking  up,  startled]  Oh!  no  thanks.  I'm 
all  right. 

Jill.  No,  do !    You  must.  [Chloe  takes  them. 

Jill.  D'you  mind  letting  me  see  that  a  minute.'^ 

She  takes  the  particulars  of  the  sale  and  studies 
it,  but  Chloe  has  buried  the  lower  part  of 
her  face  in  her  hand  and  the  smelling  salts 
bottle. 
Beastly  hot,  isn't  it  ?    You'd  better  keep  that. 

Chloe.  [Her  dark  eyes  wandering  and  uneasy]  Rolf's 
getting  me  some  water. 

Jill.  "WTiy  do  you  stay  ?  You  didn't  want  to  come, 
did  you  ^  [Chloe  shakes  Iter  head. 

All  right!     Here's  your  water. 

She  hands  back  the  particulars  and  slides  over 

to  her  seat,  passing  Rolf  in  tJie  gangway, 

with  her  chin  well  up. 

Mrs.  Hillcrist,  iclio  has  watched  Chloe  and 

Jill  and  Dawtcer  aiui  his  friend,  jnakes  an 


Bc.  I  THE   SKCs    GAIME  45 

enquiring  movement  with  her  hand,  hut  gets 
a  disappointing  answer. 

Jill,  ^^^lat's  the  time,  Dodo? 

HiLLCRisT.  [Looking  at  his  watch]  Three  minutes  past. 

Jill.  [Sighing]  Oh,  hell! 

HiLLCRIST.   Jill! 

Jill.  Sorry,  Dodo.     I  was  only  thinking.     Look! 
Here  he  is  !     Phew  ! — isn't  he ? 

Mbs.  H.  'Sh! 

The  Auctioneer  comes  in  Left  and  goes  to  the 
table.  He  is  a  square,  short,  brown-faced, 
common-looking  man,  vyith  dipped  grey  hair 
fitting  him  like  a  cap,  and  a  clipped  grey 
moustache.  His  lids  come  down  over  his 
quick  eyes,  till  he  can  see  you  very  sharply, 
and  you  can  hardly  see  that  he  can  see  you. 
He  can  break  into  a  smile  at  any  moment, 
ichich  has  no  connection  with  him,  as  it  were. 
By  a  certain  hurt  look,  hov:ever,  when  bidding 
is  slow,  he  discloses  that  he  is  not  merely  an 
aiiclixmeer,  hut  has  in  him  elements  of  the 
human  being.  He  can  xcink  with  anyone, 
and  is  dressed  in  a  snuff-brown  suit,  with  a 
perfectly  unbuttoned  waistcoat,  a  low,  turned- 
down  collar,  and  small  black  and  v:hite  sailor- 
knot  tie.  While  he  is  settling  his  papers,  the 
Hillcrists  settle  themselves  tensely.  Chloe 
has  drunk  her  water  and  leaned  back  again, 
with  the  smelling  salts  to  her  nose.  Rolf 
leans  forward  in  the  seat  beside  her,  looking 


46  THE  SKIN   GAIVIE  act  ii 

sideways  at  Jill.  A  Solicitor,  with  a  grey 
beard,  has  joined  the  Auctioneer  at  his  table. 
Auctioneer.  [Tapping  the  table]  Sorry  to  disappoint 
you,  gentlemen,  but  I've  only  one  property  to  offer  you 
to-day.  No.  1,  The  Gentry,  Deepwater.  The  second 
on  the  particulars  has  been  withdrawn.  The  third — 
that's  Bidcot,  desirable  freehold  mansion  and  farmlands 
in  the  Parish  of  Kenway — we  shall  have  to  deal  with 
next  week.  I  shall  be  happy  to  sell  it  you  then  with- 
out reservation.  [He  looks  again  through  the  particidars 
in  his  handy  giving  the  audience  tiine  to  readjust  them- 
selves to  his  statements]  Now,  gen'lemen,  as  I  say,  I've 
only  the  one  property  to  sell.  Freehold  No.  1 — all 
that  very  desirable  corn  and  stock-rearing  and  parklike 
residential  land  known  as  the  Gentry,  Deepwater, 
unique  property — an  A.l.  chance  to  an  A.l.  audience. 
[With  his  smile]  Ought  to  make  the  price  of  the  three 
we  thought  we  had.  Now  you  won't  mind  listening  to 
the  conditions  of  sale;  Mr.  Blinkard'll  read  'em,  and 
they  won't  wirry  you,  they're  very  short. 

He  sits  down  and  gives  two  little  taps  on  the 

table. 
The  Solicitor  rises  and  reads  the  conditions 
of  sale  in  a  voice  which  no  one  practically 
can  hear.  Just  as  he  begins  to  read  these 
conditions  of  sale,  Gharles  Hornblower 
enters  at  back.  He  stands  a  moment,  glanc- 
ing round  at  the  Hillcrists  and  twirling  his 
moustache,  then  moves  along  to  his  wife  and 
touches  her. 
Gharles.  Ghloe,  aren't  you  well .' 


sc.  I  THE  SKIN  GAME  47 

In  the  start  which  she  gives,   her  face  is  fully 
revealed  to  the  audience. 
Charles.  Come   along,   out  of  the   way   of  these 
people. 

Ee  jerks   his   head   towards   the   Hillcrists. 
Chloe  gives  a  swift  look  doicn  to  the  stage 
Right  of  the  audience. 
Chloe.  No;  I'm  all  right;  it's  hotter  there. 
Charles.  [To  Rolf]  Well,  look  after  her— I  must 
go  back. 

Rolf  nods.     Ch.^rles  slides  hack  to  the  door, 
with  a  glance  at  the  Hillcrists,  of  whom 
!Mrs.  Hillcrist  has  been  watching  like  a 
lynx.    He  goes  out,  just  as  the  Solicitor, 
finishing,  sits  down. 
Auctioneer.  [Rising  and  tapping]  Now,  gen'lemen, 
it's  not  often  a  piece  of  land  like  this  comes  into  the 
market.     \Miat's  that?  [To  a  friend  in  front  of  him] 
No  better  land  in  Deepwater — that's  right,  Mr.  Spicer. 
I  know  the  village  well,  and  a  charming  place  it  is; 
perfect  locality,  to  be  sure.     Now  I  don't  want  to 
wirry  you  by  singing  the  praises  of  this  property;  there 
it  is — well-watered,  nicely  timbered — no  reservation  of 
the  timber,  gen'lemen — no  tenancy  to  hold  you  up; 
free  to  do  what  you  like  with  it  to-morrow.     You've 
got  a  jewel  of  a  site  there,  too;  perfect  position  for  a 
house.     It  lies  between  the  Duke's  and  Squire  Hill- 
crist's — an  emerald  isle.  [With  his  smile]  No  allusion 
to  Ireland,  gen'lemen — perfect  peace  in  the  Centry. 
Nothing  like  it  in  the  county — a  gen'leman's  site,  and 
you  don't  get  that  offered  you  every  day.  [Ee  looks 


48  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  ii 

down  towards  Hornblower,  stage  Left]  Carries  the 
mineral  rights,  and  as  you  know,  perhaps,  there's  the 
very  valuable  Deepwater  clay  there.  What  am  I  to 
start  it  at?  Can  I  say  three  thousand?  Well,  any- 
thing you  like  to  give  me.  I'm  not  particular.  Come 
now,  you've  got  more  time  than  me,  I  expect.  Two 
hundred  acres  of  first-rate  grazin'  and  cornland,  with 
a  site  for  a  residence  unequalled  in  the  county;  and  all 
the  possibilities  !    Well,  what  shall  I  say  ? 

[Bid  from  Spicer. 
Two  thousand  ?  [With  his  smile]  That  won't  hurt  you, 
Mr.  Spicer.  Why,  it's  worth  that  to  overlook  the 
Duke.     For  two  thousand  ? 

[Bid  from  Hornblower,  stage  Left. 
And  five.  Thank  you,  sir.  Two  thousand  five  hun- 
dred bid.  [To  a  friend  just  below  him. 
Come,  Mr.  Sandy,  don't  scratch  your  head  over  it. 

[Bid  from  Dawker,  stage  Right. 
And  five.  Three  thousand  bid  for  this  desirable  prop- 
erty. Why,  you'd  think  it  wasn't  desirable.  Come 
along,  gen'Iemen.    A  little  spirit.  [A  slight  pavse. 

Jill.  Why  can't  I  see  the  bids.  Dodo  ? 

HiLLCRisT.  The  last  was  Dawker's. 

Auctioneer.  For  three  thousand.  [Hornblower] 
Three  thousand  five  hundred?  May  I  say  four?  [A 
hid  from  the  centre]  No,  I'm  not  particular;  I'll  take 
hundreds.  Three  thousand  six  hundred  bid.  [Horn- 
blower] And  seven.  Three  thousand  seven  hundred, 
and [He  pauses,  quartering  the  audience. 

Jill.  Who  was  that,  Dodo  ? 


sc.  I  THE  SKIN  GAME  49 

HiLLCRiST.  Hornblower.  It's  the  Duke  in  the 
centre. 

Auctioneer.  Come,  gen'lemen,  don't  keep  me  all 
da\'.  Four  thousand  may  I  say.?  [Dawker]  Thank 
you.  We're  beginning.  And  one.'  [A  hid  from  the 
centre]  Four  thousand  one  hundred.  [Hornblower] 
Four  thousand  two  hundred.  May  I  have  yours,  sir  ? 
[To  Dawker]  And  three.  Four  thousand  three  hun- 
dred bid.  No  such  site  in  the  county,  gen'lemen.  I'm 
going  to  sell  this  land  for  what  it's  worth.  You  can't 
bid  too  much  for  me.  [He  smiles]  [Horxblo\\tir]  Four 
thousand  five  hundred  bid.  [Bid  from  the  centre]  And 
six.  [Dawker]  And  seven.  [Horxblower]  And  eight. 
Nine,  may  I  say  ?  [But  the  centre  has  dried  up]  [Da"v\'xer] 
And  nine.  [Horxblower]  Five  thousand.  Five  thou- 
sand bid.  That's  better;  there's  some  spirit  in  it. 
For  five  thousand. 

[He  pauses  while  he  speaks  to  the  Solicitob. 

HiLLCRisT.  It's  a  duel  now. 

Auctioneer.  Now,  gen'lemen,  I'm  not  going  to  give 
this  property  away.  Five  thousand  bid.  [Dawker] 
And  one.  [Horxblower]  And  two.  [Dawker]  And 
three.  Five  thousand  three  hundred  bid.  And  five, 
did  you  say,  sir.'  [Horxblower]  Five  thousand  five 
hundred  bid.  [He  looks  at  his  particulars. 

Jill.  [Rather  agonised]  Enemy,  Dodo. 

Auctioneer.  This  chance  may  never  come  again. 
"How  you'll  regret  it 
If  you  don't  get  it," 
as  the  poet  says.     May  I  say  five  thousand  six  hun- 


50  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  ii 

dred,  sir?  [Dawker]  Five  thousand  six  hundred  bid. 
[HoRXB lower]  And  seven.  [Dawker]  And  eight.  For 
five  thousand  eight  hundred  pounds.  We're  gettin'  on, 
but  we  haven't  got  the  value  yet. 

A  slight  jpause,  while  he  wipes  his  brow  at  the 
success  of  his  oion  efforts. 
Jill.  Us,  Dodo  ? 

HiLLCRisT  nods.   Jill  looks  over  at  Rolf,  ichose 

face  is  grimly  set.     Chloe  has  never  moved. 

Mrs.  Hillcrist  whispers  to  her  hiishand. 

Auctioneer.  Five    thousand    eight    hundred    bid. 

For    five    thousand     eight    hundred.     Come    along, 

gen'lemen,   come  along.     We're  not  beaten.     Thank 

you,  sir.  [Horxb lower]  Five  thousand  nine  hundred. 

And — ?  [Dawker]  Six  thousand.     Six  thousand  bid. 

Six  thousand  bid.     For  six  thousand !     The  Gentry — 

most  desirable  spot  in  the  county — going  for  the  low 

price  of  six  thousand. 

Hillcrist.  [Muttering]  Low !  Heavens ! 
Auctioneer.  Any  advance  on  six  thousand  .^  Come, 
gen'lemen,  we  haven't  dried  up.-*  A  little  spirit.  Six 
thousand?  For  six  thousand?  For  six  thousand 
pounds?  Very  well,  I'm  selling.  For  six  thousand 
once — [He  taps]  For  six  thousand  twice — [He  taps]. 
Jill.  [Ixnc]  Oh !  we've  got  it ! 

Auctioneer.  And  one,  sir  ?  [Hornblower]  Six  thou- 
sand one  hundred  bid. 

The  Solicitor  touches  his  arm  and  says  some- 
thing^ to  which  the  Auctioneer  responds 
with  a  nod. 


sc.  I  THE  SKLN  GA:ME  51 

Mrs.  H.  Blow  your  nose,  Jack. 

[HiLLCRisT  blows  his  nose. 

Auctioneer.  For  six  thousand  one  hundred.  [Daw- 
ker]  And  two.  Thank  you.  [Horxblower]  And  three. 
For  six  thousand  three  hundred.  [Da'^'KEr]  And  four. 
For  sLx  thousand  four  hundred  pounds.  This  coveted 
property.  For  six  thousand  four  hundred  pounds. 
Why,  it's  giving  it  away,  gentlemen.  [A  pause. 

Mrs.  H.  Giving! 

Auctioneer.  Six  thousand  four  hundred  bid.  [Horn- 
blower]  And  five.  [Dawker]  And  six.  [Hornblower] 
And  seven.  [Dawker]  And  eight. 

A  pause,  during  which,  through  the  door  Left, 
someone  beckons  to  the  Solicitor,  who  rises 
and  confers. 

HiLLCRiST.  [Muttering]  I've  done  if  that  doesn't  get 
it. 

Auctioneer.  For  six  thousand  eight  hundred.  For 
six  thousand  eight  hundred — once — [He  tups]  twice — 
[He  taps]  For  the  last  time.  This  dominating  site. 
[Hornblower]  And  nine.  Thank  you.  For  six  thou- 
sand nine  hundred. 

[HiLLCRiST  has  taken  out  his  handkerchief. 

Jill.  Oh !  Dodo ! 

Mrs.  H.  [Quivering]  Don't  give  in ! 

Auctioneer.  Seven  thousand  may  I  say  ?  [Dawker] 
Seven  thousand. 

Mrs.  H.  [Whispers]  Keep  it  down;  don't  show 
him. 

Auctioneer.  For  seven  thousand — going  for  seven 


52  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  ii 

thousand — once — [Taps]  twice — [Taps]  [Hornblower] 
And  one.     Thank  you,  sir. 

HiLLCRisT  blows  his  nose.    Jill,  iinth  a  choke, 
leans  back  in  her  seat  and  folds  her  arms 
tightly  on  her  chest.    IMrs.  Hillcrist  passes 
her  handkerchief  over  her  lips,  sitting  perfectly 
still.    Hillcrist,  too,  is  motionless. 
The  Auctioneer  has  paused,  and  is  talking  to 
the  Solicitor,  who  has  returned  to  his  seat. 
IVIrs.  H.  Oh !  Jack. 
Jill.  Stick  it.  Dodo;  stick  it ! 

Auctioneer.  Now,  gen'lemen,  I  have  a  bid  of  seven 
thousand  one  hundred  for  the  Gentry.  And  I'm  in- 
structed to  sell  if  I  can't  get  more.  It's  a  fair  price, 
but  not  a  big  price.  [To  his  friend  Mr.  Spicer]  A 
thumpin'  price  .^  [With  his  smile]  Well,  you're  a  judge 
of  thumpin',  I  admit.  Now,  who'll  give  me  seven 
thousand  two  hundred?  What,  no  one.'*  Well,  I 
can't  make  you,  gen'lemen.  For  seven  thousand  one 
hundred.     Once — [Taps]    Twice — [Taps]. 

[Jill  utters  a  little  groan. 
Hillcrist.  [Suddenly,  in  a  queer  voice]  Two. 
Auctioneer.  [Turning  with  surprise  and  looking  up 
to  receive  Hillcrist's  nod\  Thank  you,  sir.  And  two. 
Seven  thousand  two  hundred.  [He  screws  himself  round 
so  as  to  command  both  Hillcrist  and  Hornblower] 
May  I  have  yours,  sir?  [Hornblower]  And  three. 
[Hillcrist]  And  four.  Seven  thousand  four  himdred. 
For  seven  thousand  four  hundred.  [Hornblower]  Five. 
[Hillcrist]  Six.     For  seven  thousand  six  hundred.  [A 


sc.  I  THE  SKIN  GAIME  53 

pause]  Well,  gen'lemen,  this  is  better,  but  a  record 
property  shid  fetch  a  record  price.  The  possibilities 
are  enormous.  [Horxblower]  Eight  thousand  did  you 
say,  sir?  Eight  thousand.  Going  for  eight  thousand 
pounds.  [Hillcrist]  And  one.  [Horxblower]  And  two. 
[Hillcrist]  And  three.  [Horxblower]  And  four.  [Hill- 
crist] And  five.  For  eight  thousand  five  hundred.  A 
wonderful  property  for  eight  thousand  five  hundred. 

[He  wipes  his  brow. 

Jill.  [Whispering]  Oh,  Dodo! 

IVIrs.  H.  That's  enough,  Jack,  we  must  stop  some 
time. 

AucnoxEER.  For  eight  thousand  five  hundred. 
Once — [Taps]  Twice — [Taps]  [Horxblower]  Six  hun- 
dred. [Hillcrist]  Seven.  May  I  have  yours,  su-.^ 
[Horxblower]  Eight. 

Hillcrist.  Nine  thousand. 

Mrs.  Hillcrist  looks  at  him,  biting  her  lips, 
but  he  is  quite  absorbed. 

Auctioxeer.  Nine  thousand  for  this  astounding 
property,  ^^^ly,  the  Duke  would  pay  that  if  he  realised 
he'd  be  overlooked.  Now,  sir.^  [To  Horxblower. 
Ko  response].  Just  a  little  raise  on  that.  [So  response.] 
For  nine  thousand.  The  Gentry,  Deepwater,  for  nine 
thousand.     Once — [Taps]  Twice — [Taps]. 

Jill.  [Under  her  breath]  Ours ! 

A  Voice.  [From  far  back  in  the  centre]  And  five 
hundred. 

AucTioxEER.  [Surprised  and  throwing  out  his  arms 
towards  the  voice]  And  five  hundred.     For  nine  thou- 


54  THE   SKIN   GAIVDE  act  ii 

sand  fiv^e  hundred.     May  I  have  3'ours,  sir  ?  [He  looks 
at  HoRNBLowER.     No  respojise.] 

[The  Solicitor  speaks  to  him. 

Mes.  H.  [Whispering]  It  must  be  the  Duke  again. 

HiLLCRisT.  [Passing  his  hand  over  his  brow]  That's 
stopped  him,  anyway. 

Auctioneer.  [Looking  at  Hillcrist]  For  nine  thou- 
sand five  hundred.^  [Hillcrist  shakes  his  head.] 
Once  more.  The  Centr}^  Deepwater,  for  nine  thou- 
sand five  hundred.  Once — [Taps]  Twice — [Taps]  [He 
pauses  and  looks  again  at  Horxblower  and  Hillcrist] 
For  the  last  time — at  nine  thousand  five  hundred. 
[Taps]  [With  a  look  towards  the  bidder]  Mr.  Smalley. 
Well !  [JVith  great  satisfaction]  That's  that !  No  more 
to-day,  gen'lemen. 

The  Auctioneer  and  Solicitor  busy  them- 
selves.    The  room  begins  to  empty. 

Mrs.  H.  Smalley.^  Smalley.'^  Is  that  the  Duke's 
agent  ?    Jack ! 

Hillcrist.  [Coming  out  of  a  sort  of  coma,  after  the 
excitement  he  has  been  going  through]  What !     What ! 

Jill.  Oh,  Dodo !    How  splendidly  you  stuck  it ! 

Hillcrist.  Phew !  WTiat  a  squeak !  I  was  clean 
out  of  my  depth.     A  mercy  the  Duke  chipped  in  again. 

Mrs.  H.  [Looking  at  Rolf  and  Chloe,  who  are 
standing  up  as  if  about  to  go]  Take  care;  they  can  hear 
you.     Find  Dawker,  Jack. 

Below,  the  Auctioneer  and  Solicitor  take  up 

their  papers,  and  move  out  Left. 
Hillcrist  stretches  himself,  standing  up,  as 


sc.  I  THE  SKIN  GAME  55 

if  to  throxc  off  the  strain.  The  door  behind 
is  opened,  and  Horxblower  appears, 

HoRNBLo^\Tai.  Ye  ran  me  up  a  pretty  price.  Ye 
bid  very  pluckily,  Hillcrist.  But  ye  didn't  quite  get 
my  measure. 

Hillcrist.  Oh  !  It  was  my  nine  thousand  the  Duke 
capped.  Thank  God,  the  Gentry's  gone  to  a  gentle- 
man ! 

HoRNBLOWER.  The  Duke  ?  [He  laugJis]  No,  the  Gen- 
try's not  gone  to  a  gentleman,  nor  to  a  fool.  It's  gone 
to  me. 

Hillcrist.  \Miat! 

Horxblower.  I'm  sorry  for  ye;  ye're  not  fit  to 
manage  these  things.  Well,  it's  a  monstrous  price, 
and  I've  had  to  pay  it  because  of  your  obstinacy.  I 
shan't  forget  that  when  I  come  to  build. 

Hillcrist.  D'you  mean  to  say  that  bid   was  for 

you.=* 

Horxblower.  Of  course  I  do.  I  told  ye  I  was  a 
bad  man  to  be  up  against.  Perhaps  ye'U  believe  me 
now. 

Hillcrist.  A  dastardly  trick! 

Horxblower.  [With  venom]  ^^^lat  did  ye  call  it — a 
skin  game?  Remember  we're  playin'  a  skin  game, 
Hillcrist. 

Hillcrist.  [Clenching  his  fists]  If  we  were  younger 
men 

Horxblower.  Ay!  'Twouldn't  look  pretty  for  us 
to  be  at  fisticuffs.  We'll  leave  the  fightin'  to  the  young 
ones.  [He  glances  at  Rolf  and  Jill;  suddenly  throwing 


56  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  ii 

out  his  finger  at  Rolf]  No  makin'  up  to  that  young 
woman!  I've  watched  ye.  And  as  for  you,  missy, 
you  leave  mj^  boy  alone. 

Jill.  [With  suppressed  passion]  Dodo,  may  I  spit  in 
his  eye  or  something  ? 

HiLLCRiST.  Sit  down. 

Jill  sits  doicn.    He  stands  between  her  and 

HORNBLOWER. 

You've  won  this  round,  sir,  by  a  foul  blow.  We  shall 
see  whether  you  can  take  any  advantage  of  it.  I  be- 
lieve the  law  can  stop  you  ruining  my  property. 

HoRNBLOWER.  Make  your  mind  easy;  it  can't.  I've 
got  ye  in  a  noose,  and  I'm  goin'  to  hang  ye. 

Mrs.  H.  [Suddenly]  IVIr.  Hornblower,  as  you  fight 
foul — so  shall  we. 

HiLLCRisT.  Amy! 

Mrs.  H.  [Paying  no  attention]  And  it  will  not  be 
foul  play  towards  you  and  yours.  You  are  outside 
the  pale. 

Hornblower.  That's  just  where  I  am,  outside  your 
pale  all  round  ye.  Ye're  not  long  for  Deepwater, 
ma'am.  Make  your  dispositions  to  go;  ye' 11  be  out  in 
six  months,  I  prophesy.  And  good  riddance  to  the 
neighbourhood.  [They  are  all  down  on  the  level  now. 

Chloe.  [Suddenly  coining  closer  to  Mrs.  Hillcrist] 
Here  are  your  salts,  thank  you.     Father,  can't  you —  ? 

Hornblower.  [Surprised]  Can't  I  what.'' 

Chloe.  Can't  you  come  to  an  arrangement? 

Mrs.  H.  Just  so,  Mr.  Hornblower.     Can't  you.' 

Hornblower.  [Looking  from  one  to   the   other]  As 


sc.  I  THE  SKIN  GAME  57 

we're  speakin'  out,  ma'am,  it's  your  behaviour  to  my 
daughter-in-law — who's  as  good  as  you — and  better, 
to  my  thinking — that's  more  than  half  the  reason  why 
I've  bought  this  property.  Ye've  fair  got  my  dander 
up.  Now  it's  no  use  to  bandy  words.  It's  very  for- 
givin'  of  ye,  Chloe,  but  come  along ! 

Mrs.  H.  Quite  seriously,  Mr.  Hornblower,  you  had 
better  come  to  an  arrangement. 

Horxblo\\t:r.  Mrs.  Hillcrist,  ladies  should  keep  to 
their  own  business. 

IVIrs.  H.  I  will. 

HxLLCRiST.  Amy,  do  leave  it  to  us  men.  You  young 
man  [He  speaks  to  Rolf]  do  you  support  your  father's 
trick  this  afternoon  ? 

Jill  looks  round  at  Rolf,  who  tries  to  speak, 
when  Hornblower  breaks  in. 

Hornblower.  My  trick?  And  what  d'ye  call  it, 
to  try  and  put  me  own  son  against  me.^ 

Jill.  [To  Rolf]  Well.^ 

Rolf.  I  don't,  but 

Hornblower.  Trick?  Ye  young  cub,  be  quiet. 
Mr.  Hillcrist  had  an  agent  bid  for  him — I  had  an  agent 
bid  for  me.  Only  his  agent  bid  at  the  beginnin',  an' 
mine  bid  at  the  end.     TSTiat's  the  trick  in  that? 

[He  laughs. 

Hillcrist.  Hopeless;  we're  in  different  worlds. 

Hornblower.  I  wish  to  God  we  were !  Come  you, 
Chloe.  And  you,  Rolf,  you  follow.  In  six  months  I'll 
have  those  chimneys  up,  and  me  lorries  runnin' 
round  ye. 


58  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  ii 

IMrs.  H.  Mr.  Hornblower,  if  you  build 

HoRXBLOwER.  [Looking  at  Mrs.  Hillcrist]  Ye 
know — it's  laughable.  Ye  make  me  pay  nine  thou- 
sand five  hundred  for  a  bit  o'  land  not  worth  four,  and 
ye  think  I'm  not  to  get  back  on  ye.  I'm  goin'  on  with 
as  little  consideration  as  if  ye  were  a  family  of  black- 
beetles.  Good  afternoon ! 
Rolf.  Father! 

Jill.  Oh,  Dodo !     He's  obscene. 
Hillcrist.  Mr.  Hornblower,  my  compliments. 

Hornblower,  with  a  stare  at  Hillcrist's 
half-smiling  face,  takes  Chloe's  arm,  and 
half  drags  her  towards  the  door  on  the  Left. 
But  there,  in  the  opened  doonvay,  are  stand- 
ing Dawker  and  a  Straxger.  They  move 
just  out  of  the  icay  of  the  exit,  looking  at 
Chloe,  icho  sivays  and  very  nearly  falls. 
Hornblower.  Vshyl  Chloe!  What's  the  matter.? 
Chloe.  I  don't  know;  I'm  not  well  to-day. 

[She  pidls  herself  together  icith  a  great  effort. 
Mrs.  H.  [Who  has  exchanged  a  nod  with  Dawker 
and  the  Stranger]  IVIr.  Hornblower,  you  build  at  your 
peril.     I  warn  you. 

Hornblower.  [Turning  round  to  speak]  Ye  thiuk 
yourself  very  cool  and  very  smart.  But  I  doubt  this 
is  the  first  time  ye've  been  up  against  realities.  Now, 
I've  been  up  against  them  all  my  life.  Don't  talk  to 
me,  ma'am,  about  peril  and  that  sort  of  nonsense;  it 
makes  no  impression.  Yoiu*  husband  called  me  pachy- 
dermatous.    I  don't  know  Greek,  and  Latin,  and  all 


sc.  I  THE  SKIN  GAiVIE  59 

that,  but  I've  looked  it  out  in  the  dictionary,  and  I 
find  it  means  thick-skinned.  And  I'm  none  the  worse 
for  that  when  I  have  to  deal  with  folk  Uke  you.  Good 
afternoon. 

He  draws  Cbiob  forward,  and  they  'pass  throitgk 
Uie  door,  foUmoed  quickly  by  Rolf. 
Mrs.  H.  Thank  you,  Dawker. 

She  moves  up  to  Dawker  and  the  Stranger, 
Left,  and  they  talk. 
Jill.  Dodo  !  It's  awful ! 

HiLLCRisT.  Well,  there's  nothing  for  it  now  but  to 
smile  and  pay  up.  Poor  old  home!  It  shall  be  his 
wash-pot.  Over  the  Gentry  will  he  cast  his  shoe.  By 
Gad,  JUl,  I  could  cry  ! 

Jill.  [Pointing]  Look!    Chloe's  sitting  down.     She 
nearly  fainted  just  now.     It's  something  to  do  with 
Dawker,  Dodo,  and  that  man  with  him.     Look  at 
mother!    Ask  them! 
HiLLCRisT.  Dawker! 

Dawker  comes  to  him,  followed  by  Mrs.  Hill- 

CRIST. 

TMiat's  the  mystery  about  young  Mrs.  Hornblower? 
Dawker.  No  mystery. 
HiLLCRisT.  "Well,  what  is  it.^ 
Mrs.  H.  You'd  better  not  ask. 
HiLLCRiST.  I  wish  to  know. 
^1k3.  H.  Jill,  go  out  and  wait  for  us. 
Jill.  Nonsense,  mother ! 
Mrs.  H.  It's  not  for  a  girl  to  hear. 
Jill.  Bosh !    I  read  the  papers  every  day. 


60  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  ii 

Dawker.  It's  nothin'  worse  than  you  get  there,  any- 
way. 

Mrs.  H.  Do  you  wish  j'^our  daughter 

Jill.  It's  ridiculous.  Dodo;  you'd  think  I  was  mother 
at  my  age. 

Mrs.  H.  I  was  not  so  proud  of  my  knowledge. 

Jill.  No,  but  you  had  it,  dear. 

HiLLCRisT.  What   is   it — what   is   it.'*     Come   over 
here,  Dawker. 

Dawker  goes  to  him,  Right,  and  speaks  in  a 
low  voice. 
What !  [Again  Dawker  speaks  in  a  low  voice. 

Good  God ! 

Mrs.  H.  Exactly! 

Jill.  Poor  thing — whatever  it  is ! 

Mrs.  H.  Poor  thing  ? 

Jill.  What  went  before,  mother.^ 

Mrs.  H.  It's   what's   coming   after   that   matters, 
luckily. 

HiLLCRisT.  How  do  you  know  this.'^ 

Dawker.  My  friend  here  [He  points  to  the  Stranger] 
was  one  of  the  agents. 

HiLLCRisT.  It's  shocking.     I'm  sorry  I  heard  it. 

Mrs.  H.  I  told  you  not  to. 

HiLLCRiST.  Ask  j^our  friend  to  come  here. 

Dawker  beckons,  and  the  Stranger  joins  the 
group. 
Are  you  sure  of  what  you've  said,  sir.? 

Stranger.  Perfectly.     I  remember  her  quite  well; 
her  name  then  was 

Hillcrist.  I  don't  want  to  know,  thank  you.    I'm 


sc.  I  THE  SKIN  GAME  61 

truly  sorry.  I  wouldn't  wish  the  knowledge  of  that 
about  his  womenfolk  to  my  worst  enemy.  This  mustn't 
be  spoken  of.  [Jill  hugs  his  arm. 

jVIrs.  H.  It  will  not  be  if  Mr.  Hornblower  is  wise. 
If  he  is  not  wise,  it  must  be  spoken  of. 

HiLLCRisT.  I  say  no.  Amy.  I  won't  have  it.  It's 
a  dirty  weapon.     Who  touches  pitch  shall  be  defiled. 

IMrs.  H.  "Well,  what  weapons  does  he  use  against 
us.'^  Don't  be  quixotic.  For  all  we  can  tell,  they 
know  it  quite  well  already,  and  if  they  don't  they 
ought  to.  Anj-way,  to  know  this  is  our  salvation,  and 
we  must  use  it. 

Jell.  [Sottovoce]  Pitch!    Dodo!    Pitch! 

Dawker.  The  threat's  enough!  J.P. — Chapel — 
Future  member  for  the  constituency 

HiLLCRiST.  [A  little  more  doubtfully]  To  use  a  piece 
of  knowledge  about  a  woman — it's  repugnant.  I — I 
won't  do  it. 

Mrs.  H.  If  you  had  a  son  tricked  into  marrying 
such  a  woman,  would  you  wish  to  remain  ignorant  of 
it.5» 

HiLLCRiST.  [Struck]  I  don't  know — I  don't  know. 

Mrs.  H.  At  least  you'd  like  to  be  in  a  position  to 
help  him,  if  you  thought  it  necessary  .^ 

HiLLCRiST.  Well — that — perhaps. 

IMrs.  H.  Then  you  agree  that  Mr.  Hornblower  at 
least  should  be  told.  WTiat  he  does  wath  the  knowledge 
is  not  our  affair. 

HiLLCRiST.  [Ualj  to  the  Stranger  and  half  to  Daw- 
kee]  Do  you  realise  that  an  imputation  of  that  kind 
may  be  ground  for  a  criminal  libel  action  .-* 


6^2  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  ii 

Stranger.  Quite.  But  there's  no  shadow  of  doubt; 
not  the  faintest.     You  saw  her  just  now  ? 

HiLLCRisT.  I  did.  [Revolting  again]  No;  I  don't  like 
it. 

Dawker  has  drawn  the  Stranger  a  step  or 
two  away,  and  they  talk  together. 

Mrs.  H.  [In  a  loto  voice]  And  the  ruin  of  our  home  ? 
You're  betraying  your  fathers,  Jack. 

HiLLCRisT.  I  can't  bear  bringing  a  woman  into  it.. 

Mrs.  H.  We  don't.  If  anyone  brings  her  in,  it  will 
be  Hornblower  himself. 

HiLLCRiST.  We  use  her  secret  as  a  lever. 

Mrs.  H.  I  tell  you  quite  plainly:  I  will  only  con- 
sent to  holding  my  tongue  about  her,  if  you  agree  to 
Hornblow^er  being  told.  It's  a  scandal  to  have  a 
woman  like  that  in  the  neighbourhood. 

Jill.  Mother  means  that,  father. 

HiLLCRiST.  Jill,  keep  quiet.  This  is  a  very  bitter 
position.     I  can't  tell  what  to  do. 

Mrs.  H.  You  must  use  this  knowledge.  You  owe 
it  to  me — to  us  all.  You'll  see  that  when  you've 
thought  it  over. 

Jill.  [Softly]  Pitch,  Dodo,  pitch ! 

IMrs.  H.  [Furioiisly]  Jill,  be  quiet ! 

HiLLCRiST.  I  was  brought  up  never  to  hurt  a  woman. 
I  can't  do  it.  Amy — I  can't  do  it.  I  should  never  feel 
like  a  gentleman  again. 

Mrs.  H.  [Coldly]  Oh !  Very  well. 

HiLLCRiST.  What  d'you  mean  by  that  ? 

Mrs.  H.  I  shall  use  the  know^ledge  in  my  own  way. 


sc.  I  THE  SKIN  GAJME  63 

HrLLCRisT.  [Staring  at  her]  You  woiiUl — against  my 
wishes  ? 

jMrs,  H.  I  consider  it  my  dutj\ 

HiLLCRisT.  If  I  agree  to  Hornblower  being  told 

:Mrs.  H.  That's  aU  I  want. 

HiLLCEiST.  It's  the  utmost  I'll  consent  to,  Amy;  and 
don't  let's  have  any  humbug  about  its  being  morally 
necessary.     We  do  it  to  save  our  skins. 

!Mrs.  H.  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  humbug  ? 

Jlll.  He  means  humbug,  mother. 

HiLLCRiST.  It  must  stop  at  old  Hornblower.  Do 
you  quite  understand  ? 

Mrs.  H.  Quite. 

Jill.  Will  it  stop  ? 

'Mrs.  H.  Jill,  if  you  can't  keep  your  impertinence 
to  yourself 

HiLLCRiST.  Jill,  come  with  me. 

[He  turns  towards  door,  Bach. 

Jill.  I'm  sorry,  mother.  Only  it  is  a  skin  game, 
isn't  it? 

Mjts.  H.  You  pride  youself  on  plain  speech,  Jill. 
I  pride  myself  on  plain  thought.  You  will  thank  me 
afterwards  that  I  can  see  realities.  I  know  we  are  bet- 
ter f)eople  than  these  Hornblowers.  Here  we  are  going 
to  stay,  and  they — are  not. 

Jill.  [LooJdng  at  her  with  a  sort  of  unwilling  admira- 
tion] Mother,  you're  wonderful ! 
.  HiLLCRiST.   Jill! 

Jill.  Coming,  Dodo. 

She  turns  and  runs  to  the  door.     They  go  out. 


64  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  ii 

Mrs.  Hillcrist,  vnth  a  long  sigh,  draws 
herself  up,  fine  and  proud. 

Mrs.  H.  Dawker !  [He  comes  to  her, 

I  shall  send  him  a  note  to-night,  and  word  it  so  that 
he  will  be  bound  to  come  and  see  us  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. Will  you  be  in  the  study  just  before  eleven 
o'clock,  with  this  gentleman  ? 

Dawker.  [Nodding]  We're   going   to   wire   for   his 
partner.     I'll  bring  him  too.     Can't  make  too  sure. 
[Slie  goes  firmly  up  the  steps  and  out. 

Dawker.  [To  the  Stranger,  with  a  wink]  The 
Squire's  squeamish — too  much  of  a  gentleman.  But 
he  don't  count.  The  grey  mare's  all  right.  You 
wire  to  Henry.  I'm  off  to  our  solicitors.  We'll  make 
that  old  rhinoceros  sell  us  back  the  Gentry  at  a  decent 
price.  These  Hornblowers — [Laying  his  finger  on  his 
nose]  We've  got  'em ! 

CURTAIN 


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SCENE  n 

Chloe's  boudoir  at  Iialf-pasi  seven  the  same  evening.  A 
pretty  room.  No  pictures  on  the  wallsy  hut  two 
mirrors.  A  screen  and  a  luxurious  couch  on  the 
fireplace  side,  stage  Left.  A  door  rather  Right  oj 
Centre  Back,  opening  inwards.  A  French  window. 
Right  forward.  A  writing  table.  Right  Back.  Elec- 
tric light  burning. 

Chloe,  in  a  tea-gown,  is  standing  by  the  fonvard  end 
of  the  sofa,  very  still,  and  very  pale.  Her  lips  are 
parted,  and  her  large  eyes  stare  straight  before  them 
as  if  seeing  ghosts.  The  door  is  opened  noiselessly 
and  a  Woman's  face  is  seen.  It  peers  at  Chloe, 
vanishes,  and  the  door  is  closed.  Chloe  raises  her 
hands,  covers  her  eyes  with  tJwm,  drops  them  with  a 
quick  gesture,  and  looks  round  her.  A  knock.  With 
a  swift  movement  she  slides  on  to  the  sofa,  and  lies 
prostrate,  with  eyes  closed. 

Chloe.  [Feebly]  Come  in ! 

Her  '^LMD  enters  ;  a  trim,  contained  figure  of 
uncertain  years,  in  a  black  dress,  with  the 
face  which  was  peering  in. 
Yes,  Anna  ? 

Anna.  Aren't  you  going  in  to  dinner,  ma'am? 
Chloe.  [With  closed  eyes]  Xo. 
67 


68  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  ii 

Anna.  Will  you  take  anythmg  here,  ma'am  ? 

Chloe.  I'd  like  a  biscuit  and  a  glass  of  champagne. 
The  Maid,  wiio  is  standing  between  sofa  and 
door,   smiles,     Chloe,   with  a  swift   look, 
catches  the  smile. 
Why  do  you  smile  ? 

Anna.  Was  I,  ma'am.? 

Chloe.  You  know  you  were.  [Fiercely]  Are  you  paid 
to  smile  at  me.'' 

Anna.  [Immxyvable]  No,  ma'am.  Would  you  like 
some  eau  de  Cologne  on  your  forehead  ? 

Chloe.  Yes.— No.— What's  the  good .?  [Clasping  her 
forehead]  My  headache  won't  go. 

Anna.  To  keep  lying  down's  the  best  thing  for  it. 

Chloe.  I  have  been — hours. 

Anna.  [With  the  smile]  Yes,  ma'am. 

Chloe.  [Gathering  herself  up  on  the  sofa]  Anna! 
Why  do  you  do  it  ? 

Anna.  Do  what,  ma'am? 

Chloe.  Spy  on  me. 

Anna.  I — never!    I ! 

Chloe.  To  spy !  You're  a  fool,  too.  What  is  there 
to  spy  on  ? 

Anna.  Nothing,  ma'am.  Of  course,  if  you're  not 
satisfied  with  me,  I  must  give  notice.  Only — if  I  were 
spying,  I  should  expect  to  have  notice  given  me.  I've 
been  accustomed  to  ladies  who  wouldn't  stand  such  a 
thing  for  a  minute. 

Chloe.  [Intently]  Well,  you'll  take  a  month's  wages 
and  go  to-morrow.    And  that's  all,  now. 

[iiNNA  inclines  her  head  and  goes  out. 


sc.  II  THE  SKIN  GAME  69 

Chloe,  with  a  sort  of  moan,  turns  over  and 
bvries  her  face  in  the  cushion. 
Chloe.  [Sitting  up]  If  I  could  see  that  man — if  only 

— or  Dawker 

She  springs  up  and  goes  to  the  door,  but  hesi- 
tates, and  comes  hack  to  the  head  of  the  sofa, 
as  Rolf  conies  in.  During  this  scene  the 
door  is  again  opened  stealthily,  an  inch  or 
two. 
Rolf.  How's  the  head  ? 

Chloe.  Beastly,  thanks.    I'm  not  going  in  to  dinner. 
Rolf.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you  ? 
Chloe.  No,   dear   boj\  [Suddenly   looking   at   him] 
You  don't  want  this  quarrel  with  the  Hillcrists  to  go 
on,  do  you,  Rolf  ? 
Rolf.  No;  I  hate  it. 

Chloe.  Well,  I  think  I  might  be  able  to  stop  it.  Will 
you  slip  round  to  Dawker's — it's  not  five  minutes — 
and  ask  him  to  come  and  see  me. 

Rolf.  Father  and  Charlie  wouldn't 

Chloe.  I  know.  But  if  he  comes  to  the  window 
here  while  you're  at  dinner,  I'll  let  him  in,  and  out, 
and  nobody'd  know. 

Rolf.  [Astonished]  Yes,  but  what — I  mean  how 

Chloe.  Don't  ask  me.  It's  worth  the  shot— that's 
all.  [Looking  at  her  wrist-watch]  To  this  window  at 
eight  o'clock  exactly.  First  long  window  on  the  ter- 
race, tell  him. 

Rolf.  It's  nothing  Charlie  would  mind.^ 
Chloe.  No;  only  I  can't  tell  him — he  and  father  are 
so  mad  about  it  all. 


70  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  ii 

Rolf.  If  there's  a  real  chance 


Chloe.  [Going  to  the.  window  and  opening  it]  This 
way,  Rolf.  If  you  don't  come  back  I  shall  know  he's 
coming.  Put  your  watch  by  mine.  [Looking  at  his 
watch]  It's  a  minute  fast,  see ! 

Rolf.  Look  here,  Chloe 

Chloe.  Don't  wait;  go  on. 

She  almost  pushes  him  out  through  the  window, 
closes  it  after  him,  draws  the  curtains  again, 
standi  a  minute,  thinking  hard ;  goes  to  the 
hell  and  rings  it ;  then,  crossing  to  the  writing 
table.  Right  Back,  she  takes  out  a  chemist's 
jyreseription. 

[Anna  cames  in. 
Chloe.  I  don't  want  that  champagne.     Take  this 
to  the  chemist  and  get  him  to  make  up  some  of  these 
cachets  quick,  and  bring  them  back  yourself. 
Anna.  Yes,  ma'am;  but  you  have  some. 
C^LOE.  They're     too    old;    I've    taken    two — the 
strength's  out  of  them.     Quick,  please;  I  can't  stand 
this  head. 

Anna.  [Taking  the  prescription — with  her  smile]  Yes, 

ma'am.     It'll  take  some  time — j'ou  don't  want  me.^ 

Chloe.  No;  I  want  the  cachets.  [Anna  goes  out. 

Chloe  looks  at  her  lorist-watch,  goes  to  the 

writing-table,  which  is  old-fashioned,  with  a 

secret  drawer,  looks  round  her,  dives  at  the 

secret  drawer,  takes  out  a  roll  of  notes  and  a 

tissue  paper  parcel.     She  counts  the  notes: 

"  Three  hundred."     Slips  them  into  her  breast 


8c.  II  THE  SKIN  GAME  71 

and  unwraps  the  little  parcel.  It  contains 
pearls.  She  slips  them,  too,  into  her  dress ^ 
looks  round  startled,  replaces  the  drawer,  and 
regains  her  place  on  the  sofa,  lying  prostrate 
as  the  door  opens,  and  Hornblower  comes 
in.  She  does  not  open  her  eyes,  and  lie 
stands  looking  at  her  a  moment  before  speak- 
ing. 
Hornblower.  [Almost  softly]  How  are  ye  feelin', 
Chloe? 

Chloe.  Awful  head ! 

Hornblower.  Can  ye  attend  a  moment  ?    I've  had 
a  note  from  that  woman.  [Chloe  sits  up. 

Hornblo\vt:r.  [Reading]  "I  have  something  of  the 
utmost  importance  to  tell  you  in  regard  to  your  daugh- 
ter-in-law. I  shall  be  waiting  to  see  you  at  eleven 
o'clock  to-morrow  morning.  The  matter  is  so  utterly 
vital  to  the  happiness  of  all  your  family,  that  I  cannot 
imagine  you  will  fail  to  come."  Now,  what's  the 
meaning  of  it?  Is  it  sheer  impudence,  or  lunacy,  or 
what  ? 
Chloe.  I  don't  know. 

Hornblower.  [Not  unkindly]  Chloe,  if  there's  any- 
thing— ye'd  better  tell  me.     Forewarned's  forearmed. 
Chloe.  There's  nothing;  unless  it's — [With  a  quick 
look  at  him] — Unless  it's  that  my  father  was  a — a 
bankrupt. 

Hornblower.  Hech!    Many   a   man's   been   that. 
Ye've  never  told  us  much  about  your  family. 
Chloe.  I  wasn't  very  proud  of  him. 


72  THE  SKIN  GAIME  act  ii 

HoRNBLowER.  Well,  ye're  not  responsible  for  your 
father.  If  that's  all,  it's  a  relief.  The  bitter  snobs! 
I'll  remember  it  in  the  accomit  I've  got  with  them. 

Chloe.  Father,  don't  say  anything  to  Charlie;  it'll 
only  worry  him  for  nothing. 

HoRXBLOWER.  Na,  no,  I'll  not.  If  I  went  bankrupt, 
it'd  upset  Chearlie,  I've  not  a  doubt.  [He  laughs. 
Looking  at  her  shrewdly]  There's  nothing  else,  before  I 
answer  her  .^  [Chloe  shakes  her  head. 

Ye're  sure  ? 

Chloe.  [With  an  effort]  She  may  invent  things,  of 
course. 

HoRNBLowER.  [Lost  in  his  feud  feeling]  Ah!  but 
there's  such  a  thing  as  the  laws  o'  slander.  If  they 
play  pranks,  I'll  have  them  up  for  it. 

Chloe.  [Timidly]  Couldn't  you  stop  this  quarrel, 
father  ?  You  said  it  was  on  my  account.  But  I  don't 
want  to  know  them.  And  they  do  love  their  old  home. 
I  like  the  girl.  You  don't  really  need  to  build  just 
there,  do  you  ?     Couldn't  you  stop  it  ?    Do ! 

Horxblower.  Stop  it.'*  Now  I've  bought.'*  Na, 
no !  The  snobs  defied  me,  and  I'm  going  to  show 
them.  I  hate  the  lot  of  them,  and  I  hate  that  little 
Dawker  worst  of  all. 

Chloe.  He's  only  their  agent. 

HoBXBLOW^ER.  He's  a  part  of  the  whole  dog-in-the- 
manger  system  that  stands  in  my  way.  Ye're  a  woman, 
and  ye  don't  understand  these  things.  Ye  wouldn't 
believe  the  struggle  I've  had  to  make  my  money  and 
get  my  position.     These  county  folk  talk  soft  sawder. 


sc.  II  THE  SKIN  GAME  73 

but  to  get  anything  from  them's  like  gettin'  butter  out 
of  a  dog's  mouth.  If  they  could  drive  me  out  of  here 
by  fair  means  or  foul,  would  they  hesitate  a  moment  ? 
Not  they !  See  what  they've  made  me  pay;  and  look 
at  this  letter.  Selfish,  mean  lot  o'  hypocrites ! 
Chloe.  But  they  didn't  begin  the  quarrel. 
HoRXBLOWER.  Not  opculy;  but  underneath  they  did 
—that's  their  way.  They  began  it  by  thwartin'  me 
here  and  there  and  everj^here,  just  because  I've 
come  mto  me  own  a  bit  later  than  they  did.  I  gave 
'em  their  chance,  and  they  wouldn't  take  it.  Well, 
I'll  show  'em  what  a  man  like  me  can  do  when  he  sets 
his  mind  to  it.     I'll  not  leave  much  skin  on  them. 

In  the  intensity  of  his  feeling  he  has  lost  sight 
of  her  face,  alive  with  a  sort  of  agony  of  doubt, 
whether  to  plead  with  him  further,  or  what  to 
do.     Then,  xdth  a  sivift  glance  at  her  wrist- 
watch,  she  falls  back  on  the  sofa  and  closes 
her  eyes. 
It'll  give  me  a  power  of  enjoyment  seein'  me  chimneys 
go  up  in  front  of  their  windies.     That  was  a  bonnie 
thought— that  last  bid  o'  mme.     He'd  got  that  roused 
up,  I  believe  he  never  would  a'  stopped.  [Looking  at 
her]  I  forgot  your  head.     Well,  well,  ye'U  be  best  fyin* 
quiet.  [The  gong  sounds. 

Shall  we  send  ye  something  in  from  dinner  ? 

Chloe.  No;  I'll  try  to  sleep.     Please  tell  them  I 
don't  want  to  be  disturbed. 

HoRNBLowER.  All  right.     I'll  just  answer  this  note. 
[He  sits  down  at  her  writing-table. 


74  THE  SKIN  GAIME  act  ii 

Chloe  starts  up  from  the  sofa  feverishly,  loolc- 
ing  at  her  tvatch,  at  the  window,  at  her  watch  ; 
then  softly  crosses  to  the  window  and  opens  it. 
HoRNBLOWER.  [Finishing]  Listen !  [He  turns  round 
towards  the  sofa]  Hallo !    ^Miere  are  ye  ? 
Chloe.  [At  the  window]  It's  so  hot. 
HoRNBLOWER.  Here's  what  I've  said: 

"jMadam, — You  can  tell  me  nothing  of  my  daugh- 
ter-in-law which  can  affect  the  happiness  of 
my  family.  I  regard  your  note  as  an  imper- 
tinence, and  I  shall  not  be  with  you  at  eleven 
o'clock  to-morrow  morning. 

"Yours  truly '* 

Chloe.  [With  a  suffering  movement  of  her  head]  Oh ! 

— Well ! [The  gong  is  touehed  a  second  time. 

HoRNBLOWER.  [Crossing  to  the  door]  Lie  ye  down, 
and  get  a  sleep.     I'll  tell  them  not  to  disturb  ye;  and 
I  hope  ye'll  be  all  right  to-morrow.    Good-night,  Chloe. 
ChIiOE.  Good-night.  [He  goes  out. 

After  a  feverish  turn  or  two,  Chloe  returns  to 
the  open  loindow  and  waits  there,  half  screened 
hy  the  curtains.  The  door  is  opened  inch 
by  inch,  and  Anna's  head  peers  round.  See- 
ing where  Chloe  is,  she  slips  in  and  passes 
behind  tJie  screen.  Left.  Suddenly  Chloe 
backs  in  from  the  icindow. 
Chloe.  [In  a  low  voice]  Come  in. 

[She  darts  to  the  door  and  locks  it. 


sc.  II  THE  SKIN  GAME  75 

Dawker  has  come  in  through  the  loindow  and 
stands  regarding  her  with  a  half  smile. 
Dawker.  Well,  young  woman,  what  do  you  want 
of  me  ? 

In  the  presence  of  this  man  of  her  own  class, 
there  conies  a  distinct  change  in  Chix)e's 
voice  and  manner  ;  a  sort  of  frank  common- 
ness, adapted  to  the  man  she  is  dealing  with, 
but  she  keeps  her  voice  low. 
Chloe.  You're  making  a  mistake,  you  know. 
Dawker.  [With  a  broad  grin]  No.     I've  got  a  mem- 
ory for  faces. 

Chloe.  I  say  you  are. 

Da\\tler.  [Turning  to  go]  If  that's  all,  you  needn't 
'ave  troubled  me  to  come. 

Chloe.  No.     Don't  go !  [With  a  faint  smile]  You  are 
playing  a  game  with  me.     Aren't  you  ashamed  ?    What 
harm  have  I  done  j^ou  ?     Do  you  call  this  cricket  ? 
Dawker.  No,  my  girl — business. 
Chloe.  [Bitterly]  What  have  I  to  do  with  this  quar- 
rel.^    I  couldn't  help  their  falling  out. 
Dawker.  That's  your  misfortune. 
Chloe.  [Clasping  her  hands]  You're  a  cruel  fellow 
if  you  can  spoil  a  woman's  life  who  never  did  you  an 
ounce  of  harm. 

Dawker.  So  they  dont  know  about  you.  That's  all 
right.  Now,  look  here,  I  serve  my  employer.  But 
I'm  flesh  and  blood,  too,  and  I  always  give  as  good  as 
I  get.  I  hate  this  family  of  yours.  There's  no  name 
too  bad  for  'em  to  call  me  this  last  month,  and  no 


76  THE  SKIN  GA]ME  act  ii 

looks  too  black  to  give  me.    I  tell  you  frankly,  I  hate 
'em. 

Chloe.  There's  good  in  them  same  as  in  you. 

Dawker.  [With  a  grin]  There's  no  good  Hornblower 
but  a  dead  Hornblower. 

Chloe.  But — but  I'm  not  one. 

Dawker.  You'll  be  the  mother  of  some,  I  shouldn't 
wonder. 

Chloe.  [Stretching  out  her  hand — pathetically]  Oh! 
leave  me  alone,  do !  I'm  happy  here.  Be  a  sport ! 
Be  a  sport ! 

Dawker.  [Disconcerted  for  a  second]  You  can't  get 
at  me,  so  don't  try  it  on. 

Chloe.  I  had  such  a  bad  time  in  old  days. 

Dawker  shakes  his  head ;  his  grin  has  dis- 
appeared and  his  face  is  like  wood. 

Chloe.  [Panting]  Ah!  do!  You  might!  You've 
been  fond  of  some  woman,  I  suppose.    Think  of  her ! 

Dawker.  [Decisively]  It  won't  do,  Mrs.  Chloe. 
You're  a  pawn  in  the  game,  and  I'm  going  to  use  you. 

Chloe.  [Despairingly]  What  is  it  to  you?  [With  a 
sudden  touch  of  the  tigress]  Look  here!  Don't  you 
make  an  enemy  of  me.  I  haven't  dragged  through 
hell  for  nothing.  Women  like  me  can  bite,  I  tell 
you. 

Dawker.  That's  better.  I'd  rather  have  a  woman 
threaten  than  whine,  any  day.  Threaten  away ! 
You'll  let  'em  know  that  you  met  me  in  the  Prom- 
enade one  night.  Of  course  you'll  let  'em  know  that, 
won't  you  ? — or  that 


sc.  II  THE  SKIN  GAIVIE  77 

Chloe.  Be  quiet!  Oh!  Be  quiet!  [Taking from  her 
bosom  the  notes  and  the  pearls]  Look !  There's  my  sav- 
ings— there's  all  I've  got!  The  pearls'll  fetch  nearly 
a  thousand.  [Holding  it  out  to  him]  Take  it,  and  drop 
me  out — won't  you  ?     AVon't  you  ? 

Da'w^ker.  [Passing  his  tongue  over  his  lips — with  a 
hard  little  laugh]  You  mistake  your  man,  missis.  I'm 
a  plain  dog,  if  you  like,  but  I'm  faithful,  and  I  hold  fast. 
Don't  try  those  games  on  me. 

Chloe.  [Losing  control]  You're  a  beast ! — a  beast !  a 
cruel,  cowardly  beast !  And  how  dare  you  bribe  that 
woman  here  to  spy  on  me  ?  Oh !  yes,  you  do;  you 
know  you  do.  If  you  drove  me  mad,  you  wouldn't 
care.    You  beast ! 

Dawker.  Now,  don't  carry  on!  That  won't  help 
you. 

Chloe.  WTiat  d'you  call  it — to  dog  a  woman  dovm 
like  this,  just  because  you  happen  to  have  a  quarrel 
with  a  man  ? 

Dawker.  "Who  made  the  quarrel  ?  Not  me,  missis. 
You  ought  to  know  that  in  a  row  it's  the  weak  and 
helpless — we  won't  say  the  innocent — that  get  it  in 
the  neck.     That  can't  be  helped. 

Chloe.  [Regarding  him  intently]  1  hope  your  mother 
or  your  sister,  if  you've  got  any,  may  go  through  what 
I'm  going  through  ever  since  you  got  on  my  track.  I 
hope  they'll  know  what  fear  means.  I  hope  they'll 
love  and  find  out  that  it's  hanging  on  a  thread,  and — 

and Oh !  you  coward,  you  persecuting  coward ! 

Call  yourself  a  man  ! 


78  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  ii 

Dawker.  [With  his  grin]  Ah !  You  look  quite  pretty 
like  that.  By  George!  you're  a  handsome  woman 
when  you're  roused. 

Chloe's  passion  fades  out  as  quickly  as  it 

blazed   up.     She   sinks   doicn   on    the   sofa, 

shudders,  looks  liere  and  there,  and  theyi  for 

a  moment  up  at  him. 

Chloe.  Is  there  ani/thing  you'll  take,  not  to  spoil 

my  life  ?  [Clasping  her  hands  on  her  breast ;  under  her 

breath]  Me.? 

Dawker.  [Wiping  his  brmc]  By  God!  That's  an 
offer.  [He  recoils  towards  the  window]  You — 3'ou  touched 
me  there.  Look  here!  I've  got  to  use  you  and  I'm 
going  to  use  you,  but  I'll  do  my  best  to  let  you  down 
as  easy  as  I  can.  No,  I  don't  want  anything  you  can 
give  me — that  is — [He  wipes  his  brow  again]  I'd  like  it 
— but  I  won't  take  it. 

[Chloe  buries  her  face  in  her  hands. 

There !     Keep  your  pecker  up;  don't  cry.     Good-night ! 

[He  goes  through  the  window. 

Chloe.  [Springing  up]  Ugh !  Rat  in  a  trap  !  Rat ! 

She  stands  listening  ;  flies  to  the  door,  unlocks 
it,  and,  going  back  to  the  sofa,  lies  down  and 
closes  her  eyes.  Charles  comes  in  very 
quietly  and  stands  over  her,  looking  to  see  if 
she  is  asleep.  She  opens  her  eyes. 
Charles.  Well,  Clo !  Had  a  sleep,  old  girl  ? 
Chloe.  Ye — es. 

Charles.  [Sitting  on  the  arm  of  the  sofa  and  caressing 
her]  Feel  better,  dear  ? 

Chloe.  Yes,  better,  Charlie. 


sc.  II  THE  SKIN  GAME  79 

Ch.\rles.  That's  right.     Would  you  like  some  soup  ? 

Chloe.  [With  a  shudder]  No. 

Charles.  I  say— what  gives  you  these  heads? 
You've  been  very  on  and  off  all  this  last  month. 

Chloe.  I  don't  know.  Except  that — except  that  I 
am,  going  to  have  a  child,  Charlie. 

Cil\rles.  After  all!    By  Jove!     Sure? 

Chloe.  [Nodding]  Are  you  glad? 

Charles.  Well— I  suppose  I  am.  The  guv*nor  will 
be  mighty  pleased,  anyway. 

Chloe.  Don't  tell  him — yet. 

Charles.  All  right!  [Bending  over  and  drawing  her 
to  him]  My  poor  girl,  I'm  so  sorry  you're  seedy.  Give 
us  a  kiss. 

Chloe  puts  up  her  face  and  kisses  him  pas- 
sionately. 
I  say,  you're  like  fire.     You're  not  feverish? 

Chloe.  [With  a  laugh]  It's  a  wonder  if  I'm  not. 
Charlie,  are  you  happy  with  me  ? 

Charles.  What  do  you  think  ? 

Chloe.  [Leaning  against  him]  You  wouldn't  easily 
believe  things  against  me,  would  you? 

Charles.  ^Miat!  Thinking  of  those  Hillcrists? 
What  the  hell  that  woman  means  by  her  attitude 

towards  you "\Mien  I  saw  her  there  to-day,  I  had 

all  my  work  cut  out  not  to  go  up  and  give  her  a  bit  of 
my  mind. 

Chloe.  [Watching  him  stealthily]  It's  not  good  for 
me,  now  I'm  like  this.     It's  upsetting  me,  Charlie. 
'     Charles.  Yes;  and  we  won't  forget.     We'll  make 
'em  pay  for  it. 


80  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  ii 

Chloe.  It's  wretched  in  a  little  place  like  this.  I 
say,  must  you  go  on  spoiling  their  home  ? 

Charles.  The  woman  cuts  you  and  insults  you. 
That's  enough  for  me. 

Chloe.  [Timidly]  Let  her.  /  don't  care;  I  can't 
bear  feeling  enemies  about,  Charlie,  I — get  nervous — 
I 

Charles.  My  dear  girl!    What  is  it.? 

[He  looks  at  her  intently. 

Chloe.  I  suppose  it's — being  like  this.  [Suddenly] 
But,  Charlie,  do  stop  it  for  my  sake.     Do,  do ! 

Charles.  [Patting  her  arm]  Come,  come;  I  say, 
Chloe !  You're  making  mountains.  See  things  in  pro- 
portion. Father's  paid  nine  thousand  five  hundred  to 
get  the  better  of  those  people,  and  you  want  him  to 
chuck  it  away  to  save  a  woman  who's  insulted  you. 
That's  not  sense,  and  it's  not  business.  Have  some 
pride. 

Chloe.  [Breathless]  I've  got  no  pride,  Charlie.  I 
want  to  be  quiet — that's  all. 

Charles.  Well,  if  the  row  gets  on  your  nerves,  I 
can  take  you  to  the  sea.  But  you  ought  to  enjoy  a 
fight  with  people  like  that. 

Chloe.  [With  calculated  bitterness]  No,  it's  nothing, 
of  course — what  /  want. 

Charles.  Hallo !  Hallo !  You  are  on  the  jump ! 

Chloe.  If  you  want  me  to  be  a  good  wife  to  you, 
make  father  stop  it. 

Charles.  [Standing  up]  Now,  look  here,  Chloe, 
what's  behind  this  ? 


sc.  II  THE  SKIN  GAJVIE  81 

Chloe.  [Faintly]  Behind? 

Ch^^rles.  You're  carrying  on  as  if — as  if  you  were 
really  scared!  We've  got  these  people.  We'll  have 
them  out  of  Deepwater  in  six  months.  It's  absolute 
ruination  to  their  beastly  old  house;  we'll  put  the  chim- 
neys on  the  very  edge,  not  three  hundred  yards  off, 
and  our  smoke'll  be  drifting  over  them  half  the  time. 
You  won't  have  this  confounded  stuck-up  woman  here 
much  longer.  And  then  we  can  really  go  ahead  and 
take  our  proper  place.  So  long  as  she's  here,  we  shall 
never  do  that.  We've  only  to  drive  on  now  as  fast 
as  we  can. 

Chloe.  [TVith  a  gesture]  I  see. 

Charles.  [Again  looking  at  her]  If  you  go  on  like 
this,  you  know,  I  shall  begin  to  think  there's  some- 
thing you 

Chloe  [softly]  Charlie !  [He  comes  to  her. 

Love  me ! 

Charles.  [Embracing  her]  There,  old  girl !  I  know 
women  are  funny  at  these  times.  You  want  a  good 
night,  that's  all. 

Chloe.  You  haven't  finished  dinner,  have  you? 
Go  back,  and  I'll  go  to  bed  quite  soon.  Charlie,  don't 
stop  loving  me. 

Charles.  Stop  ?    Not  much. 

While  he  is  again  embracing  her,  Anna  steals 
from  behind  the  screen  to  the  door,  opens  it 
noiselessly,  and  passes  through,  but  it  clicks 
as  she  shuts  it. 

Chloe.  [Starting  violently]  Oh — h ! 


82  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  ii 

Charles.  What  is  it  ?  What  is  it  ?  You  are  nervy, 
my  dear. 

Chloe.  [Looking  round  with  a  little  laugh]  I  don't 
know.  Go  on,  Charlie.  I'll  be  all  right  when  this 
head's  gone. 

Charles.  [Stroking  her  forehead  arid  looking  at  her 
doubtfully]  You  go  to  bed;  I  won't  be  late  coming  up. 
He  turns  and  goes,  blowing  a  kiss  from  the 
doorway.  When  lie  is  gone,  Chloe  gets  up 
and  stands  in  precisely  the  attitude  in  which 
she  stood  at  the  beginning  of  the  Act,  thinking , 
and  thinking.  And  the  door  is  opened,  and 
the  face  of  the  IMaid  peers  round  at  her. 

CURTAIN 


k 


ACT  III 


ACT    III 

SCENE  I 

Morning 

HiLLCRiST*s  study  next  morning. 

Jill,  coming  from  Left,  looks  in  at  the  open  « 

French  window. 
Jill.  [Speaking  to  Rolf,   invisible]  Come   in   here. 
There's  no  one.  * 

She  goes  in.     Rolf  join^  her,  coming  from  the 
garden. 
Rolf.  Jill,  I  just  wanted  to  say — ^Need  we? 

[Jill  nods. 
Seeing  you  yesterday — it  did  seem  rotten. 
Jill.  We  didn't  begin  it. 
Rolf.  No;   but  you   don't   understand.     If  you'd 

made  yourself,  as  father  has 

Jill.  I  hope  I  should  be  sorry. 
Rolf.  [Reproachfully]  That  isn't  like  you.     Really 
he  can't  help  thinking  he's  a  public  benefactor. 

Jill.  And  we  can't  help  thinking  he's  a  pig.     Sorry ! 

Rolf.  If  the  survival  of  the  fittest  is  right 

Jill.  He  may  be  fitter,  but  he's  not  going  to  survive. 
Rolf.  [Distracted]  It  looks  like  it,  though. 
Jill.  Is  that  all  you  came  to  say.^ 
85 


86  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  m 

Rolf.  No.  Suppose  we  joined,  couldn't  we  stop  it  ? 

Jill.  I  don't  feel  like  joining. 

JRoLF.  We  did  shake  hands. 

Jill.  One  can't  fight  and  not  grow  bitter. 

Holt.  /  don't  feel  bitter. 

Jill.  Wait;  you'll  feel  it  soon  enough. 

Rolf.  Why.^  [Attentively]  About  Chloe?  Idothmk 
your  mother's  manner  to  her  is 

Jill.  Well? 

Rolf.  Snobbish.  [Jill  laughs. 

She  may  not  be  your  class;  and  that's  just  why  it's 
snobbish. 

Jill.  I  think  you'd  better  shut  up. 

Rolf,  ^^^lat  my  father  said  was  true;  your  mother's 
rudeness  to  her  that  day  she  came  here,  has  made  both 
him  and  Charlie  ever  so  much  more  bitter. 

[Jill  whistles  the  Habanera  from  ''Carmen.'' 
[Staring  at  her,  rather  angrily]  Is  it  a  whistling  matter? 

Jill.  No. 

Rolf.  I  suppose  you  want  me  to  go  ? 

Jill.  Yes. 

Rolf.  All  right.  Aren't  we  ever  going  to  be  friends 
again  ? 

Jill.  [Looking  steadily  at  him]  I  don't  expect  so. 

Rolf.  That's  very — horrible. 

Jill.  Lots  of  horrible  things  in  the  world. 

Rolf.  It's  our  business  to  make  them  fewer,  Jill. 

Jill.  [Fiercely]  Don't  be  moral. 

Rolf.  [HuH]  That's  tie  last  thing  I  want  to  be.  I 
only  want  to  be  friendly. 


6c.  I  THE  SKIN  GAME  87 

Jill.  Better  be  real  first. 

Rolf.  From  the  big  point  of  view 

Jill.  There  isn't  any.     We're  all  out  for  our  own. 
And  why  not  ? 

Rolf.  By  jove,  you  have  got 

Jill.  Cynical.^    Your  father's  motto — "Every  man 
for  himself."     That's  the  winner — hands  down.     Good- 
bye! 
Rolf.  JiU!    Jill! 

Jill.  [Putting  her  hands  behind  her  hacTd  hums] — 
*Tf  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot 

And  days  of  auld  lang  s\Tie'' 

Rolf.  Don't! 

With  a  pained  gesture  he  goes  out  towards  Left, 

through  the  French  windov). 
Jill,  who  has  broken  off  the  song,  stands  with 
her  hands  clenched  and  her  lips  quivering. 

[Fellows  enters  Left. 
Fellows.  Mr.  Dawker,  Miss,  and  two  gentlemen. 
Jill.  Let  the  three  gentlemen  in,  and  me  out. 

[She  passes  him  and  goes  out  Left. 

And    immediately    Dawker    and    the    Two 

Strangers  come  in. 

Fellows.  I'll  inform  Mrs.  Hillcrist,  sir.    The  Squire 

is  on  his  rounds.  [He  goes  out  Left. 

The  Three  Men  gather  in  a  discreet  knot  at 

the  big   bureau,   having  glanced  at  the  two 

doors  and  the  open  French  window. 

Dawker.  Now   this    may   come    into    Court,    you 

know.     If  there's  a  screw  loose  an^'w^here,  better  men- 


88  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  in 

tion  it.  [To  Second  Steangek]  You  knew  her  person- 
ally? 

Second  S.  What  do  you  think?  I  don't  take  girls 
on  trust  for  that  sort  of  job.  She  came  to  us  highly 
recommended,  too;  and  did  her  work  very  well.  It 
was  a  double  stunt — to  make  sure — wasn't  it,  George  ? 

First  S.  Yes;  we  paid  her  for  the  two  visits. 

Second  S.  I  should  know  her  in  a  minute;  striking 
looking  girl;  had  something  in  her  face.  Daresay  she'd 
seen  hard  times. 

FmsT  S.  We  don't  want  publicity. 

Dawker.  Not  likely.  The  threat'!!  do  it;  but  the 
stakes  are  hea\^" — and  the  man's  a  slogger;  we  must 
be  able  to  push  it  home.  If  you  can  both  swear  to 
her,  it'll  do  the  trick. 

Second  S.  And  about — I  mean,  we're  losing  time, 
you  know,  coming  down  here. 

Dawker.  [With  a  nod  at  First  Stranger]  George 
here  knows  me.  That'll  be  all  right.  I'll  guarantee  it 
well  worth  your  while. 

Second  S.  I  don't  want  to  do  the  girl  harm,  if  she's 
married. 

Dawker.  No,  no;  nobody  wants  to  hurt  her.  We 
just  want  a  cinch  on  this  fellow  till  he  squeals. 

They  separate  a  little  as  Mrs.  Hillcrist  enters 
from  Right. 

Dawker.  Good  mommg,  ^la'am.  My  friend's  part- 
ner.   Hornblower  coming  ? 

Mrs.  H.  At  eleven.  I  had  to  send  up  a  second 
note,  Dawker. 

Dawker.  Squire  not  in  ? 


sc.  I  THE  SKIN  GAME  89 

Mrs.  H.  I  haven't  told  him. 

Dawtler.  [Nodding]  Our  friends  might  go  in  here 
[Pointing  Right]  and  we  can  use  *em  as  we  want  'em. 

Mrs.  H.  [To  the  Strangers]  Will  you  make  your- 
selves comfortable  ? 

She  holds  the  door  open,  and  they  pass  her  into 
the  room.  Right, 

Dawker.  [Showing  document]  I've  had  this  drawn 
and  engrossed.  Pretty  sharp  work.  Conveys  the 
Centrj",  and  Longmeadow,  to  the  Squire  at  four  thou- 
sand five  hundred.  Now,  ma'am,  suppose  Hornblower 
puts  his  hand  to  that,  he'll  have  been  done  in  the  eye, 
and  six  thousand  all  told  out  o'  pocket.  You'll  have 
a  very  nasty  neighbour  here. 

Mrs.  H.  But  we  shall  still  have  the  power  to  dis- 
close that  secret  at  any  time. 

Dawker.  Yeh !  But  things  might  happen  here  you 
could  never  bring  home  to  him.  You  can't  trust  a 
man  like  that.     He  isn't  goin'  to  forgive  me,  I  know. 

Mrs.  H.  [Regarding  him  keenly]  But  if  he  signs,  we 
couldn't  honourably 

Dawker.  No,  ma'am,  you  couldn't;  and  Fm  sure  I 
don't  want  to  do  that  girl  a  hurt.  I  just  mention  it 
because,  of  course,  you  can't  guarantee  that  it  doesn't 
get  out. 

Mrs.  H.  Not  absolutely,  I  suppose. 

A  look  passes  between  them,  which  neither  of 
them  has  quite  sanctioned. 
There's  his  car.     It  always  seems  to  make  more  noise 
than  any  other. 

Dawker.  He'll  kick  and  flounder — but  you  leave 


90  THE   SKIN   GAME  act  m 

him  to  ask  what  you  want,  ma'am;  don't  mention  this 
[He  puts  the  deed  back  into  his  pocket].  The  Gentry's 
no  mortal  good  to  him  if  he's  not  going  to  put  up 
works;  I  should  say  he'd  be  glad  to  save  what  he  can. 
Mrs.  Hillcrist  inclines  her  head.  Fellows 
enters  Left. 

Fellows.  [Apologetically]  Mr.  Hornblower,  ma'am; 
by  appointment,  he  says. 

Mrs.  H.  Quite  right,  Fellows. 

Hornblower  comes  in,  and  Fellows  goes  out. 

HoRXBLowER.  [Withoid  salutation]  I've  come  to  ask 
ye  point  blank  what  ye  mean  by  writing  me  these  let- 
ters. [He  takes  out  two  letters]  And  we'll  discuss  it  in 
the  presence  of  nobody,  if  ye  please. 

IMrs.  H.  Mr.  Dawker  knows  all  that  I  know,  and 
more. 

HoRNBLOw^ER.  Docs  he  }  Very  well !  Your  second 
note  says  that  my  daughter-in-law  has  lied  to  me. 
Well,  I've  brought  her,  and  what  ye've  got  to  say — if 
it's  not  just  a  trick  to  see  me  again — ye'll  say  ^  her 
face.  [He  takes  a  step  towards  the  wincbw. 

ISIrs.  H.  Mr.  Hornblower,  you  had  better  decide 
that  after  hearing  what  it  is — we  shall  be  quite  ready 
to  repeat  it  in  her  presence;  but  we  want  to  do  as  little 
harm  as  possible. 

Hornblower.  [Stopping]  Oh!  ye  do!  Well,  what 
lies  have  ye  been  hearin'  ?  Or  what  have  ye  made  up  ? 
You  and  Mr.  Dawker.^  Of  course  ye  know  there's  a 
law  of  libel  and  slander.  I'm  not  the  man  to  stop  at 
that. 


sc.  I  THE  SKIN  GAME  91 

Mrs.  H.  [Calmly]  Are  you  familiar  with  the  law  of 
divorce,  Mr.  Hornblower  ? 

HoRNBLOWER.  [Taken  aback]  No,  I'm  not.  That 
is 

IVIrs.  H.  Well,  you  know  that  misconduct  is  re- 
quired. And  I  suppose  you've  heard  that  cases  are 
arranged. 

Horxblowt:r.  I  know  it's  all  very  shocking — what 
about  it.^ 

I^Irs.  H.  When  cases  are  arranged,  Mr.  Hornblower, 
the  man  who  is  to  be  divorced  often  visits  an  hotel 
with  a  strange  woman.  I  am  extremely  sorry  to  say 
that  your  daughter-in-law,  before  her  marriage,  was 
in  the  habit  of  being  employed  as  such  a  woman. 

HoRXBLOWER.  Ye  dreadful  creature ! 

Dawker.  [Quickly]  All  proved,  up  to  the  hilt ! 

HoRXBLO^'^ER.  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  Ye're 
lyin'  to  save  your  skins.  How  dare  ye  tell  me  such 
monstrosities.^  Dawker,  I'll  have  ye  in  a  crimmal 
court. 

Dawker.  Rats!  You  saw  a  gent  with  me  yester- 
day.'    Well,  he's  employed  her. 

HoRXBLOWER.  A  put-up  job  !    Conspiracy ! 

Mrs.  H.  Go  and  get  your  daughter-m-law. 

Hornblower.  [With  the  first  sensation  of  being  in  a 
net]  It's  a  foul  shame — a  lymg  slander ! 

Mrs.  H.  If  so,  it's  easily  disproved.  Go  and  fetch 
her. 

Hornblower.  [Seeing  them  unmoved]  I  will.  I  don't 
believe  a  word  of  it. 


92  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  hi 

Mrs.  H.  I  hope  you  are  right. 

HoRNBLowER  Qoes  out  by  the  French  window, 
Dawker  slips  to  the  door  Right,  opens  it, 
and  speaks  to  those  within.    Mrs.  Hillcrist 
stands  moistening  her  lips,  and  passing  her 
handkerchief  over  them.     Hornblower  re- 
turns, preceding  Chloe,  strung  up  to  hard- 
ness and  defiance. 
Hornblower.  Now  then,  let's  have  this  impudent 
story  torn  to  rags. 
Chloe.  \Miat  story  ^ 
Hornblower.  That  you,  my  dear,  were  a  woman — 

it's  too  shockin' — I  don't  know  how  to  tell  ye 

Chloe.  Go  on ! 

Hornblower.  Were  a  woman  that  went  with  men, 
to  get  them  their  divorce. 
Chloe.  Who  says  that? 

Hornblower.  That  lady  [Sneering]  there,  and  her 
bull-terrier  here. 

Chloe.  [Facing  Mrs.  Hillcrist]  That's  a  charita- 
ble thing  to  say,  isn'^  it? 
Mrs.  H.  Is  it  true? 
Chloe.  No. 

Hornblower.  [Furiously]  There!    I'll  have  ye  both 
on  your  knees  to  her ! 
Dawker.  [Opening  the  door.  Right]  Come  in. 

The  First  Stranger  comes  in.    Chloe,  v)iih 
a  visible  effort,  turns  to  face  him. 
First  S.  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Vane? 
Chloe.  I  don't  know  you. 


sc.  I  THE  SKIN  GAJME  93 

First  S.  Your  memory  is  bad,  ma'am.     You  knew 
me  yesterday  well  enough.     One  day  is  not  a  long 
time,  nor  are  three  years. 
Chloe.  ^^^lo  are  you .'' 

First  S.  Come,  ma'am,  come !    The  Custer  case. 
Chloe.  I  don't  know  you,  I  say.  [To  Mrs.  Hill- 
crist]  How  can  you  be  so  vile  .^ 

First  S.  Let    me    refresh    your    memory,    ma'am. 
[Producing  a  notehooh]  Just  on  three  years  ago:  "Oct.  3. 

To  fee  and  expenses  Mrs.  Vane  with  iMr.  C ,  Hotel 

Beaulieu,  Twenty  pounds.  Oct.  10,  Do.,  Twenty 
pounds."  [To  Hornblo'vv'er]  AYould  you  like  to  glance 
at  this  book,  sir  .^    You'll  see  they're  genuine  entries. 

HoRXBLOWER  makes  a  motion  to  do  so,  but 
checks  himself  and  looks  at  Chloe. 
Chloe.  [Hysterically]  It's  all  lies — lies! 
First  S.  Come,  ma'am,  we  wish  you  no  harm. 
Chloe.  Take  me  away.    I  won't  be  treated  like 
this. 
Mrs.  H.  [In  a  low  voice]  Confess. 
Chloe.  Lies! 

HoRXBLOWER.  Were  ye  ever  called  Vane  ? 
Chloe.  No,  never. 

She   makes  a  movement  tovmrds  tJie  window^ 
hut  Dawker  is  in  the  way,  and  she  halts. 
First  S.  [Opening  the  door,  Right]  Henry. 

The  Second  Stranger  comes  in  quickly.  At 
sight  of  him  Chloe  throws  2ip  her  hands, 
gasps,  breaks  down,  stage  Left,  and  stands 
covering  her  face  uoith  her  hands.    It  is  so 


94  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  m 

complete    a   confession    that    Hornblower 
stands  staggered;  and,  taking  out  a  coloured 
handkerchierf,  icipes  his  brow. 
Datvker.  Are  you  convinced  ? 
HoRXBLowER.  Take  those  men  away. 
Dat^tcer.  If  you're  not  satisfied,  we  can  get  other 
evidence;  plenty. 

Hornblotvt:r.  [Looking  at  Chloe]  That's  enough. 
Take  them  out.     Leave  me  alone  with  her. 

[Dawker  takes  tliem  out  Right. 
Mrs.  Hillcrist  passes  Hornblower  and  goes 
out   at   the   zvindow.    Hornblower   nuyves 
down  a  step  or  two  towards  Chloe. 
Hornblower.  My  God ! 

Chloe.  [With  a7i  outburst]  Don't  tell  Charlie !  Don't 
tell  Charlie ! 

Hornblower.  Chearlie !  So  that  was  your  manner 
of  life.  [Chloe  niters  a  moaning  sound. 

So  that's  what  ye  got  out  of  by  marryin'  into  my 
family !    Shame  on  ye,  ye  Godless  thing ! 
Chloe.  Don't  tell  Charhe ! 

Hornblower.  And  that's  all  ye  can  say  for  the 
wreck  ye've  ^Tought.  My  family,  my  works,  my 
future !     How  dared  ye ! 

Chloe.  If  you'd  been  me ! 

Hornblower.  An'  these  Hillcrists.  The  skin  game 
of  it! 

Chloe.  [Breathless]  Father! 
Hornblower.  Don't  call  me  that,  woman ! 
Chloe.  [Desperate]  I'm  going  to  have  a  child. 


sc.  I  THE  SKIN  GAME  95 

HoRNB LOWER.  God !    Ye  are ! 

Chloe.  Your  grandchild.  For  the  sake  of  it,  do 
what  these  people  want;  and  don't  tell  anyone — Don't 
tell  Charlie! 

HoRXBLOWER.  [Again  wiping  his  forehead]  A  secret 
between  us.  I  don't  know  that  I  can  keep  it.  It's 
horrible.     Poor  Chearlie ! 

Chloe.  [Suddenly  fierce]  You  must  keep  it,  you 
shall !  I  won't  have  him  told.  Don't  make  me  des- 
perate !     I  can  be — I  didn't  live  that  life  for  nothing. 

Horxblower.  [Staring  at  her  revealed  in  a  new  light] 
Ay;  ye  look  a  strange,  wild  woman,  as  I  see  ye.  And 
we  thought  the  world  of  ye  ! 

Chloe.  I  love  Charlie;  I'm  faithful  to  him.  I  can't 
live  without  him.     You'll  never  forgive  me,  I  know; 

but  Charlie !  [Stretching  ovi  her  hands. 

Horxblower  makes  a  bewildered  gesture  with 
his  large  hands. 

Horxblower.  I'm  all  at  sea  here.  Go  out  to  the 
car  and  wait  for  me. 

[Chloe  passes  him  and  goes  oid.  Left. 
[Muttering  to  himself]  So  I'm  down !  Me  enemies  put 
their  heels  upon  me  head  !    Ah !  but  we'll  see  yet ! 

He  goes  up  to  the  window  and  beckons  towards 
the  Right. 

(Mrs.  Hillcrist  comes  in. 
What  d'ye  want  for  this  secret  ? 

Mrs.  H.  Nothing. 

Horx:blower.  Indeed!  Wonderful! — the  trouble 
ye've  taken  for — nothing. 


96  THE   SKIN   GAME  act  m 

Mrs.  H.  If  you  harm  us  we  shall  harm  you.  Any 
use  whatever  of  the  Gentry 

HoRNBLOWER.  For  which  ye  made  me  pay  nine 
thousand  five  hundred  pounds. 

Mrs.  H.  We  will  buy  it  from  you. 

HoRNBLOW^ER.  At  what  price  ? 

Mrs.  H.  The  Gentry  at  the  price  Miss  MuUins 
would  have  taken  at  first,  and  Longmeadow  at  the 
price  you  gave  us — four  thousand  five  hundred  alto- 
gether. 

HoRNBLOWER.  A  fine  price,  and  me  six  thousand 
out  of  pocket.  Na,  no !  I'll  keep  it  and  hold  it  over 
ye.    Ye  daren't  tell  this  secret  so  long  as  I've  got  it. 

Mrs.  H.  No,  Mr.  Hornblower.  On  second  thoughts, 
you  mu^t  sell.  You  broke  your  word  over  the  Jack- 
mans.  We  can't  trust  you.  We  would  rather  have 
our  place  here  ruined  at  once,  than  leave  you  the  power 
to  ruin  it  as  and  when  you  like.  You  will  sell  us  the 
Gentry  and  Longmeadow  now,  or  you  know  what  will 
happen. 

Hornblower.  [Writhing]  I'll  not.    It's  blackmail. 

Mrs.  H.  Very  well  then!  Go  yoiu*  own  way  and 
we'll  go  ours.     There  is  no  witness  to  this  conversation. 

Hornblower.  [Veno7nx)usly]  By  heaven,  ye're  a 
clever  woman.  Will  ye  swear  by  Almighty  God  that 
you  and  your  family,  and  that  agent  of  yours,  won't 
breathe  a  word  of  this  shockin'  thing  to  mortal  soul. 

Mrs.  H.  Yes,  if  you  sell. 

Hornblower.  Where's  Dawker  ? 

Mrs.  H.  [Going  to  the  door.  Right]  Mr.  Dawker ! 

[Dawker  comes  in. 


sc.  I  THE  SKIN  GAJVIE  97 

HoRNBLOWER.  I  suppose  ve've  got  your  iniquity 
ready.  PDa\\'KER  grins  and  produces  tlie  document. 

It's  mighty  near  conspiracy,   this.     Have  ye  got  a 
Testament  ? 

IVIrs.  H.  My  word  will  be  enough,  IVIr.  Hornblower. 

HoRXBLOWER.  Yc'll  pardon  me — I  can't  make  it 
solemn  enough  for  you. 

IVIrs.  H.  Very  well;  here  is  a  Bible. 

[She  takes  a  small  Bible  from  the  bookshelf. 

Dawker.  [Spreading  document  on  bureau]  This  is  a 
short  conveyance  of  the  Gentry  and  Longmeadow — 
recites  sale  to  you  by  Miss  Mullins  of  the  first,  John 
Hillcrist  of  the  second,  and  whereas  you  have  agreed 
for  the  sale  to  said  John  Hillcrist,  for  the  sum  of  four 
thousand  five  hundred  pounds,  in  consideration  of  the 
said  sum,  receipt  whereof,  you  hereby  acknowledge  you 
do  convey  all  that,  etc.     Sign  here.    I'll  witness. 

Hornblower.  [To  jMrs.  Hillcrist]  Take  that  Book 
in  your  hand,  and  swear  first.  I  swear  by  Almighty 
God  never  to  breathe  a  word  of  what  I  know  concerning 
Chloe  Hornblower  to  any  living  soul. 

IVIrs.  H.  No,  IVIr.  Hornblower;  you  will  please  sign 

first.     We  are  not  in  the  habit  of  breaking  our  words. 

HoRXBLowER,  after  a  furious  look  at  them, 

seizes  a  pen,  runs  his  eye  again  over  the  deed, 

and  signs,  Dawker  witnessing. 

To  that  oath,  IVIr.  Hornblower,  we  shall  add  the  words, 

"So  long  as  the  Hornblower  family  do  us  no  harm." 

Hornblower.  [With  a  snarl]  Take  it  in  your  hands, 
both  of  ye,  and  together  swear. 

Mrs.  H.  [Taking    the    Book]  I    swear    that    I    will 


98  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  hi 

breathe  no  word  of  what  I  know  concerning  Chloe 
Hornblower  to  any  living  soul,  so  long  as  the  Horn- 
blower  family  do  us  no  harm. 

Dawker.  I  swear  that  too. 

Mrs.  H.  I  engage  for  my  husband. 

Hornblower.  Where  are  those  two  fellows.'* 

Dawker.  Gone.     It's  no  business  of  theirs. 

Hornblower.  It's  no  business  of  any  of  ye  what 
has  happened  to  a  woman  in  the  past.  Ye  know  that. 
Good-day ! 

He  gives  them  a  deadly  looky  and  goes  outy  L^t, 
followed  by  Dawker. 

Mrs.  H.  [With  her  hand  on  the  Deed]  Safe ! 

Hillcrist  enters  at  the  French  window,  fol- 
lowed by  Jill. 
[Holding  up  the  Deed]  Look !  He*s  just  gone !  I  told 
you  it  was  only  necessary  to  use  the  threat.  He  caved 
in  and  signed  this;  we  are  sworn  to  say  nothing.  AYe've 
beaten  him.  [Hillcrist  studies  the  Deed. 

Jill.  [Awed]  We  saw  Chloe  in  the  car.  How  did 
she  take  it,  mother.^ 

Mrs.  H.  Denied,  then  broke  down  when  she  saw 
our  witnesses.     I'm  glad  you  were  not  here.  Jack. 

Jill.  [Suddenly]  I  shall  go  and  see  her. 

Mrs.  H.  Jill,  you  will  not ;  you  don't  know  what 
she's  done. 

Jill.  I  shall.    She  must  be  in  an  awful  state. 

HiTJiCRiST.  My  dear,  you  can  do  her  no  good. 

Jill.  I  think  I  can,  Dodo. 

Mrs.  H.  You    don't    understand    human    nature. 


sc.  I  THE  SKIN  GAIVIE  99 

We're  enemies  for  life  with  those  people.  You're  a 
little  donkey  if  you  think  an}i:hing  else. 

Jill.  I'm  going,  all  the  same. 

Mrs.  H.  Jack,  forbid  her. 

HiLLCRisT.  [Lifting  an  eyehroic\  Jill,  be  reasonable. 

Jill.  Suppose  I'd  taken  a  knock  like  that.  Dodo, 
I'd  be  glad  of  friendliness  from  someone. 

Mrs.  H.  You  never  could  take  a  knock  like  that, 

Jill.  You  don't  know  what  you  can  do  till  you  try, 
mother. 

HiLLCRiST.  Let  her  go.  Amy.  I'm  sorry  for  that 
young  woman. 

]Mes.  H.  You'd  be  sorry  for  a  man  who  picked  your 
pocket,  I  believe. 

HiLLCRiST.  I  certainly  should!  Deuced  little  he'd 
get  out  of  it,  when  I've  paid  for  the  Gentry. 

Mrs.  H.  [Bitterly]  Much  gratitude  I  get  for  saving 
you  both  our  home ! 

Jill.  [Disarmed\  Oh!  Mother,  we  are  grateful. 
Dodo,  show  your  gratitude. 

HiLLCRiST.  Well,  my  dear,  it's  an  intense  relief.  I'm 
not  good  at  sho-^^g  my  feelings,  as  you  know.  "What 
d'you  want  me  to  do  ?    Stand  on  one  leg  and  crow .' 

Jill.  Yes,  Dodo,  yes !  Mother,  hold  him  while  I — 
[Suddenly  she  Istops,  and  all  the  fun  goes  out  of  her]  No ! 
I  can't — I  can't  help  thinking  of  her. 

Curtain  faUs  for  a  Minute. 


SCENE  n 
Evening 

When  it  rises  again,  the  room  is  empty  and  dark,  save  for 
moordighi  coming  in  through  the  French  window, 
which  is  open. 

The  figure  of  Chloe,  in  a  black  cloak,  appears  outside 
in  the  moonlight ;  she  peers  in,  moves  past,  comes 
hack,  hesitatingly  enters.  The  cloak,  fallen  hack, 
reveals  a  white  evening  dress  ;  and  that  magpie  figure 
stands  poised  watchfidly  in  the  dim  light,  then  flaps 
unhappily  Left  and  Right,  as  if  she  could  not  keep 
still.    Suddenly  she  stands  listening, 

Rolf's  Voice.  [Outside]  CUoe !  Chloe ! 

[He  appears, 

Chloe.  [Going  to  the  window]  What  are  you  doing 
here  ? 

Rolf.  What  are  you  ?    I  only  followed  you. 

Chloe.  Go  away ! 

Rolf.  What's  the  matter.?    Tell  me! 

Chloe.  Go  away,  and  don't  say  anji:hing.  Oh! 
The  roses!  [She  has  put  her  nose  into  some  roses  in  a 
howl  on  a  big  stand  close  to  the  window]  Don't  they  smell 
lovely  ? 

Rolf.  What  did  Jill  want  this  afternoon.'' 
100 


sc.  II  THE  SKEs    G.A:ME  101 

Chloe.  I'll  tell  you  nothing.     Go  away ! 
Rolf.  I  don't  like  leaving  you  here  in  this  state. 
Chloe.  ^Miat  state  .^     I'm  all  right.     Wait  for  me 
down  in  the  drive,  if  you  want  to. 

[Rolf  starts  to  go,  stops,  looks  at  her,  and  does  go. 
Chloe,  icith  a  little  moaning  sound,  flutters 
again,  magpie-like,  up  and  down,  then  stands 
by  the  window  listening.  Voices  are  heard. 
Left.  She  darts  out  of  the  window  and  awqjj 
to  the  Right,  as  Hillcrist  and  Jill  ccmie 
in.  They  have  timied  up  the  electric  light, 
and  come  down  in  front  of  the  fireplace,  where 
Hillcrist  sits  in  an  armchair,  and  Jill  on 
ike  arm  of  it.  They  are  in  undress  evening 
attire. 
Hillcrist.  Now,  tell  me. 

Jill.  There  isn't  much.  Dodo.  I  was  in  an  awful 
fimk  for  fear  I  should  meet  any  of  the  others,  and  of 
course  I  did  meet  Rolf,  but  I  told  him  some  lie,  and  he 
took  me  to  her  room — boudoir,  they  call  it — isn't 
boudoir  a  *'dug-out"  word.^ 

Hillcrist.  [Meditatively]  The  sulking  room.  Well  ? 
Jill.  She  was  sitting  like  this.  [She  buries  her  chin 
in  her  hands,  with  her  elbows  on  her  knees]  And  she  said 
in  a  sort  of  fierce  way:  "What  do  you  want?"  And 
I  said:  "I'm  awfully  sorry,  but  I  thought  you  might 
like  it." 

Hillcrist.  Well.' 

Jill.  She  looked  at  me  hard,  and  said:  "I  suppose 
vou  know  all  about  it."     And  I  said:  "Only  vaguely," 


102  THE   SKIN   GAiVIE  act  hi 

because  of  course  I  don't.  And  she  said:  "Well,  it  was 
decent  of  you  to  come."  Dodo,  she  looks  like  a  lost 
soul.     AMiat  ha^  she  done  .^ 

Htllcrist.  She  committed  her  real  crime  when  she 
married  yoimg  Hornblower  without  telling  him.  She 
came  out  of  a  certain  world  to  do  it. 

Jill.  Oh !  [Staring  in  front  of  her]  Is  it  very  awful 
in  that  world,  Dodo? 

HiLLCRisT.  [Uneasy]  I  don't  know,  Jill.  Some  can 
stand  it,  I  suppose;  some  can't.  I  don't  know  w^hich 
sort  she  is. 

Jill.  One  thing  I'm  sure  of:  she's  awfully  fond  of 
Chearlie. 

HiLLCRisT.  That's  bad;  that's  very  bad. 

Jill.  And  she's  frightened,  horribly.  I  think  she's 
desperate. 

HiLLCRisT.  Women  like  that  are  pretty  tough,  Jill; 
don't  judge  her  too  much  by  your  own  feelings. 

Jill.  No;  only —  Oh!  it  was  beastly;  and  of 
course  I  dried  up. 

HiLLCRiST.  [Feelingly]  H'm !  One  always  does.  But 
perhaps  it  was  as  well;  you'd  have  been  blundering  in 
a  dark  passage. 

Jill.  I  just  said:  "Father  and  I  feel  awfully  sorry; 
if  there's  anji:hing  we  can  do " 

Hillcrist.  That  was  risky,  Jill. 

Jill.  [Disconsolately]  I  had  to  say  something.  I'm 
glad  I  went,  anyw-ay.     I  feel  more  human. 

Hillcrist.  We  had  to  fight  for  our  home.  I  should 
have  felt  like  a  traitor  if  I  hadn't. 


sc.  II  THE  SKIN  GAME  103 

Jill.  I'm  not  enjoying  home  to-night,  Dodo. 

HiLLCRisT.  I  never  could  hate  properly;  it's  a  con- 
founded nuisance. 

Jill.  Mother's  fearfully  bucked,  and  Dawker's  sim- 
ply oozing  triumph.  I  don't  trust  him,  Dodo;  he's  too 
— not  pugilistic — the  other  one  with  a  pug — naceous. 

HiLLCRiST.  He  is  rather. 

Jill.  I'm  sure  he  wouldn't  care  tuppence  if  Chloe 
committed  suicide. 

HiLLCRisT.  [Rising  uneasily]  Nonsense !    Nonsense ! 

Jill.  I  wonder  if  mother  would. 

HiLLCRiST.  {Turning  his  face  towards  the  window] 
What's  that.''  I  thought  I  heard — [Louder]  Is  there 
anybody  out  there? 

No  answer.  Jill  springs  up  and  runs  to  the 
window. 

Jill.  You  !  [She  dives  through  to  the  Right,  and 
returns,  holding  Chloe's  hand  and  drawing  her  forward] 
Come  in !    It's  only  us !  [To  Hillcrist]  Dodo ! 

Hillcrist.  [Fluttered,  but  making  a  show  of  courtesy] 
Good  evening !    Won't  you  sit  down  ? 

Jill.  Sit  down;  you're  all  shaky. 

She  makes  Chloe  sit  down  in  the  armchair, 
out  of  which  they  have  risen,  then  locks  the 
door,  and  closing  the  windows,  draws  the 
curtains  hastily  over  them. 

Hillcrist.  [Awkward  and  expectant]  Can  I  do  any- 
thing for  you  ? 

Chloe.  I  couldn't  bear  it — he's  coming  to  ask 
you 


104  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  iii 

HiLLcmsT.  Who? 

Chloe.  My  husband.  [She  draws  in  Iter  breath  with 
a  long  shudder,  then  seems  to  seize  her  courage  in  her 
hands]  I've  got  to  be  quick.  He  keeps  on  asking — 
he  knows  there's  something. 

HiLLCRiST.  Make  your  mind  easy.  We  shan't  tell 
him. 

Chloe.  [Appealing]  Oh!  that's  not  enough.  Can't 
you  tell  him  something  to  put  him  back  to  thinking 
it's  all  right?  I've  done  him  such  a  wrong.  I  didn't 
realise  till  after — I  thought  meeting  him  was  just  a 
piece  of  wonderful  good  luck,  after  what  I'd  been 
through.     I'm  not  such  a  bad  lot — not  really. 

She  stops  from  the  over-quivering  of  her  lips. 
Jill,  standing  beside  tJie  chair,  strokes  her 
shoulder.     Hillcrist  stands  very  still,  pain- 
fully biting  at  a  finger. 
You  see,  my  father  went  bankrupt,  and  I  was  in  a  shop 
till 

Hillcrist.  [Soothingly,  and  to  prevent  disclosures] 
Yes,  yes;  yes,  yes! 

Chloe.  I  never  gave  a  man  away  or  did  anything 

I  was  ashamed  of — at  least — I  mean,  I  had  to  make 

my  living  in  all  sorts  of  ways,  and  then  I  met  Charlie. 

Again  she  stopped  froin  the  quivering  of  her 

lips. 

Jill.  It's  all  right. 

Chloe.  He  thought  I  was  respectable,  and  that  was 
such  a  relief,  you  can't  think,  so — so  I  let  him. 

Jill.  Dodo !    It's  awful ! 

Hillcrist.  It  is ! 


sc.  II  THE  SKIN  GAME  105 

Chloe.  And  after  I  married  him,  you  see,  I  fell  in 
love.  If  I  had  before,  perhaps  I  wouldn't  have  dared — 
only,  I  don't  know — you  never  know,  do  you  ?  When 
there's  a  straw  gomg,  you  catch  at  it. 

Jill.  Of  course  you  do. 

Chloe.  And  now,  you  see,  I*m  going  to  have  a  child. 

Jill.  [AgJmst]  Oh !  Are  you  ? 

HiLLCRisT.  Good  God ! 

Chloe.  [DuUy]  I've  been  on  hot  bricks  all  this 
month,  ever  since — that  day  here.  I  knew  it  was  in 
the  wind.  What  gets  in  the  wind  never  gets  out.  [She 
rises  and  throws  out  her  arms]  Never!  It  just  blows 
here  and  there  [Desolately]  and  then  blows  home.  [Her 
voice  changes  to  resentment]  But  I've  paid  for  being  a 
fool — 'tisn't  fun,  that  sort  of  life,  I  can  tell  you.  I'm 
not  ashamed  and  repentant,  and  all  that.  If  it  wasn't 
for  him!  I'm  afraid  he'll  never  forgive  me;  it's  such 
a  disgrace  for  him — and  then,  to  have  his  child  !  Being 
fond  of  him,  I  feel  it  much  worse  than  anythmg  I  ever 
felt,  and  that's  saymg  a  good  bit.     It  is. 

Jill.  [Energetically]  Look  here !  He  smiply  mustn't 
find  out. 

Chloe.  That's  it;  but  it's  started,  and  he's  bound  to 
keep  on  because  he  knows  there's  something.  A  man 
isn't  going  to  be  satisfied  when  there's  something  he 
suspects  about  his  wife.  Charlie  wouldn't — never. 
He's  clever,  and  he's  jealous;  and  he's  coming  here. 

[She  stops,  and  looks  round  imldly,  listening. 

Jill.  Dodo,  what  can  we  say  to  put  him  clean  off 
the  scent? 

Hillcrist.  Anything  in  reason. 


106  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  m 

Chloe.  [Catching  at  ihU  straw]  You  will !  You  see, 
I  don't  know  what  I'll  do.  I've  got  soft,  being  looked 
after — he  does  love  me.  And  if  he  throws  me  off,  I'll 
go  under — that's  all. 

HiLLCRiST.  Have  you  any  suggestion  ? 

Chloe.  [Eagerly]  The  only  thing  is  to  tell  him  some- 
thing positive,  something  he'll  believe,  that's  not  too 
bad — like  my  having  been  a  lady  clerk  with  tiiose  peo- 
ple who  came  here,  and  having  been  dismissed  on  sus- 
picion of  taking  money.  I  could  get  him  to  believe 
that  wasn't  true. 

Jill.  Yes;  and  it  isn't — that's  splendid !  You'd  be 
able  to  put  such  conviction  into  it.  Don't  you  think 
so,  Dodo."^ 

HiLLCRiST.  Anything  I  can.     I'm  deeply  sorry. 

Chloe.  Thank  you.  And  don't  say  I've  been  here, 
will  you?  He's  very  suspicious.  You  see,  he  knows 
that  his  father  has  re-sold  that  land  to  you;  that's  what 
he  can't  make  out — that,  and  my  coming  here  this 
morning;  he  knows  something's  being  kept  from  him; 
and  he  noticed  that  man  with  Dawker  yesterday. 
And  my  maid's  been  spying  on  me.  It's  in  the  air. 
He  puts  two  and  two  together.  But  I've  told  him 
there's  nothing  he  need  worry  about;  nothing  that's 
true. 

HiLLCRiST.  WTiat  a  coil ! 

Chloe.  I'm  very  honest  and  careful  about  money. 
So  he  won't  believe  that  about  me,  and  the  old  man 
wants  to  keep  it  from  Charlie,  I  know. 

HiLLCRiST.  That  does  seem  the  best  way  out. 


sc.  II  THE  SKIN  GAME  107 

Chloe.  [Wiih  a  touch  of  defiance]  I'm  a  true  wife  to 
him. 

Jill.  Of  course  we  know  that. 

HiLLCRiST.  It's  all   unspeakably   sad.     Deception's 

horribly  against  the  grain — but 

Chloe.  [Eagerly]  ^Yhen  I  deceived  him,  I'd  have 
deceived  God  Himself— I  was  so  desperate.  You've 
xi^^^r.^  '  een  right  down  in  the  mud.  You  can't  under- 
staua  -hat  I've  been  through. 

HiLLCRiST.  Yes,  yes.     I  daresay  I'd  have  done  the 

same.     I  should  be  the  last  to  judge 

[Chloe  covers  her  eyes  with  her  hands. 
There,  there !     Cheer  up  ! 

[He  puts  his  hand  on  her  arm, 
Jill.  [To  herself]  DarlmgDodo! 
Chloe.  [Starting]  There's  somebody  at  the  door.     I 
must  go;  I  must  go. 

She  runs  to  tJie  window  and  slips  through  the 
curtains. 

[The  handle  of  the  door  is  again  turned. 
Jill.  [Dismayed]  Oh!  It's  locked— I  forgot. 

She  springs  to  the  door,  unlocks  and  opens  it, 
while  HiLLCRiST  goes  to  the  bureau  and  sits 
down. 
It's  all  right,  Fellows;  I  was  only  saymg  somethmg 
rather  important. 

Fellows.  [Coming  in  a  step  or  two  and  closing  the 
door  behind  him]  Certainly,  Miss.  IVIr.  Charles  'Orn- 
blower  is  in  the  hall.  Wants  to  see  you,  sir,  or  Mrs. 
Hillcrist. 


108  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  m 

Jill.  What  a  bore !    Can  you  see  him.  Dodo  ? 
HiLLCRiST.  Er — yes.     I  suppose  so.     Show  him  in 
here,  Fellows. 

As  Fellows  goes  out,  Jill  runs  to  the  vrindow, 
but  has  no  time  to  do  more  than  adjust  the 
curtains  and  spring  over  to  stand   by  her 
father,  before  Charles  comes  in.     Though  in 
evening  clothes,  he  is  white  and  dishevelled 
for  so  spruce  a  young  man, 
Charles.  Is  my  wife  here? 
Hillcrist.  No,  sir. 
Charles.  Has  she  been .? 
Hillcrist.  This  morning,  I  believe,  Jill? 
Jill.  Yes,  she  came  this  morning. 
Charles.  [Staring    at    her]  I    know    that — now^    I 
mean? 
Jill.  No.  [Hillcrist  shakes  his  head. 

Charles.  Tell  me  what  was  said  this  morning. 
Hillcrist.  I  was  not  here  this  morning. 
Charles.  Don't  try  to  put  me  off.     I  know  too 
much.  [To  Jill]  You. 
Jill.  Shall  I,  Dodo? 

Hillcrist.  No;  I  will.    Won't  you  sit  down? 
Charles.  No.     Go  on. 
HiLLCRiST.  [Moistening    his    lips]  It    appears,    Mr. 

Hornblower,  that  my  agent,  Mr.  Dawker 

Charles,  who  is  breathing  hard,  utters  a  sound 
of  anger. 
— that  my  agent  happens  to  know  a  firm,  who  in  old 
days  employed  your  wife.     I  should  greatly  prefer  not 


sc.  II  THE  SKIN  GAME  109 

to  say  any  more,  especially  as  we  don't  believe  the 
story. 
Jill.  No;  we  don't. 
Charles.  Go  on ! 

HiLLCRisT.  [Getting  wp]  Come!    If  I  were  you,  I 
should  refuse  to  listen  to  anything  against  my  wife. 
Charles.  Go  on,  I  tell  you. 

HiLLCRisT.  You  insist?    Well,  they  say  there  was 
some  question  about  the  accounts,  and  your  wife  left 
them  under  a  cloud.     As  I  told  you,  we  don't  believe  it. 
Charles.  [Passionately]  Liars ! 

[He  makes  a  rush  for  the  door, 
Hillcrist.  [Startitig]  \\Tiat  did  you  say.'* 
Jill.  [Catching  his  arm]  Dodo !  [Sotto  voce]  We  axe, 
you  know. 

Charles.  [Turning  back  to  them]  Why  do  you  tell 
me  that  lie  ?  When  I've  just  had  the  truth  out  of  that 
little  scoundrel!  My  wife's  been  here;  she  put  you 
up  to  it. 

The  face  of  Chloe  is  seen  transfixed  between 
the  curtains,  'parted  by  her  hcmds. 
She — she  put  you  up  to  it.     Liar  that  she  is — a  living 
lie.     For  three  years  a  living  lie ! 

Hillcrist,  tvhose  face  alone  is  turned  towards 
the  curtains,  sees  that  listening  face.    His 
hand  goes  up  from  uncontrollable  emotion. 
And  hasn't  now  the  pluck  to  tell  me.     I've  done  with 
her.     I  won't  own  a  child  by  such  a  woman. 

With  a  little  sighing  sound  Chloe  drops  the 
curtain  and  vanishes. 


110  THE  SKIN  GAME  act  m 

HiLLCRisT.  For   God's   sake,   man,   think   of   what 
you're  saying.     She's  in  great  distress. 

Charles.  And  what  am  I? 

Jill.  She  loves  you,  you  know. 

Charles.  Pretty  love!    That  scoundrel  Dawker  told 
me — told  me —    Horrible!  Horrible! 

HiLLCRiST.  I  deeply  regret  that  our  quarrel  should 
have  brought  this  about. 

Charles.    [With    intense    bitterness]    Yes,    you've 
smashed  my  life. 

Unseen  by  them,  Mrs.  Hillcrist  has  entered 
and  stands  by  the  door.  Left. 

Mrs.  H.  Would  you  have  wished   to   live  on   in 
ignorance.^  [TheTj  all  turn  to  look  at  her. 

Charles.  [With  a  torithing  movement]  I  don't  know. 
But — you — you  did  it. 

Mrs.  H.  You  shouldn't  have  attacked  us. 

Charles.  WTiat  did  we  do  to  you — compared  with 
this  .5 

Mrs.  H.  All  you  could. 

Hillcrist.  Enough,  enough!    What  can  we  do  to 
help  you  ? 

Charles.  Tell  me  where  my  wife  is. 

Jill  draws  the  curtains  apart — the  vnndmo  is 
open — Jill  looks  out.     They  wait  in  silence, 

Jill.  We  don't  know. 

Charles.  Then  she  was  here  ? 

Hillcrist.  Yes,  sir;  and  she  heard  you. 

Charles.  All  the  better  if  she  did.     She  knows  how 
I  feel. 


sc.  II  THE  SKIN  GAME  111 

HiLLCRiST.  Brace  up;  be  gentle  with  her. 
Charles.  Gentle  ?    A  woman  who — who 


HiLLCRiST.  A  most  unhappy  creature.     Come ! 
Charles.  Damn  your  sympathy  ! 

He  goes  out  into  the  7noonlight,  passing  away, 
Left. 
Jill.  Dodo,  we  ought  to  look  for  her;  I'm  awfully 
afraid. 

HiLLCRiST.  I  saw  her  there — listening.     With  child  ! 

Who  knows  where  things  end  when  they  once  begin  .'^ 

To  the  gravel  pit,  Jill;  I'll  go  to  the  pond.    No,  we'll 

go  together.  [They  go  out. 

Mrs.  HiLLCRiST  comes  down  to  the  fireplace, 

rings   the   bell   and  stands   there,   thinking. 

Fellows  enters. 

Mrs.  H.  I    want    someone    to    go    down    to    Mr. 

Dawker's. 

Fellows.  Mr.  Dawker  is  here,  ma'am,  waitin'  to 
see  you. 

Mrs.  H.  Ask  him  to  come  in.  Oh!  and  Fellows, 
you  can  tell  the  Jackmans  that  they  can  go  back  to 
their  cottage. 

Fellows.  Very  good,  ma'am.  [He  goes  out. 

Mrs.  HiLLCRiST  searches  at  the  bureau,  finds 
and  takes  out  the  deed.    Dawker  comes  in  ; 
he  has  the  appearance  of  a  man  whose  tem- 
per has  been  badly  ruffled. 
Mrs.  H.   Charles  Homblower — how  did  it  happen? 
Dawker.  He  came  to  me.     I  said  I  knew  nothing. 
He  wouldn't  take  it;  went  for  me,  abused  me  up  hill 


112  THE   SKIN  GAME  act  m 

aii3  down  dale;  said  he  knew  everything,  and  then  he 
began  to  threaten  me.  Well,  I  lost  my  temper,  and 
I  told  him. 

Mrs.  H.  That's  very  serious,  Dawker,  after  our 
promise.     My  husband  is  most  upset. 

Dawker.  [Sullenly]  It's  not  my  fault,  ma'am;  he 
shouldn't  have  threatened  and  goaded  me  on.  Besides, 
»it's  got  out  that  there's  a  scandal;  common  talk  in  the 
village — not  the  facts,  but  quite  enough  to  cook  their 
goose  here.  They'll  have  to  go.  Better  have  done 
with  it,  anyway,  than  have  enemies  at  your  door. 

Mrs.  H.  Perhaps;  but —  Oh!  Dawker,  take 
charge  of  this.  [She  hands  him  the  deed]  These  people 
are  desperate — and — I'm  Hot  sure  of  my  husband  when 
his  feelings  are  worked  on. 

[The  sound  of  a  car  stopping. 

Dawker.  [At  the  window,  looldng  to  the  Left]  Horn- 
blower's,  I  think.     Yes,  he's  getting  out. 

Mrs.  H.  [Bracing  herself]  You'd  better  wait,  then. 

Dawker.  He  mustn't  give  me  any  of  his  sauce;  I've 
had  enough. 

The  door  is  opened  and  Hornblower  enters, 
pressing  so  on  the  Jieels  of  Fellows  that  the 
announcement  of  his  name  is  lost. 

Hornblower.  Give  me  that  deed !  Ye  got  it  out 
of  me  by  false  pretences  and  treachery'.  Ye  swore 
that  nothing  should  be  heard  of  this.  Why !  me  own 
servants  know ! 

Mrs.  H.  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  us.  Your 
son  came  and  wrenched  the  knowledge  out  of  iVIr. 
Dawker  by  abuse  and  threats;  that  is  all.     You  will 


sc.  II  THE  SKIN  GAME  lis 

kindly  behave  yourself  here,  or  I  shall  ask  that  you 
be  shown  out. 

HoR^-BLowER.  Give  me  that  deed,  I  say !  [He  sud- 
deTily  turns  on  Dawker]  Ye  little  ruffian,  I  see  it  in 
your  pocket. 

The  end  indeed  is  projecting  from  Dawker's 
breast  pocket. 
Dawkbr.  [Seeing  red]  Now,  look  'ere,  'Omblower, 
I  stood  a  deal  from  your  son,  and  111  stand  no  more. 

HoRNBLowzR.  [To  'Mbs.  Hillcrist]  I'll  ruin  your 
place  yet !  [To  Dawkzr]  Ye  give  me  that  deed,  or  I'll 
throttle  ye. 

He  closes  on  Dawker,  and  makes  a  snatch  at 
the  deed.  Dawker  springs  at  him,  and  the 
two  stand  sicaying,  trying  for  a  grip  at  each 
others  throats.  ^Mrs.  Hillcrist  tries  to 
cross  and  reach  the  belly  but  is  shut  off  by 
their  swaying  struggle. 
Suddenly  Rolf  appears  in  the  window,  looks 
wildly  at  the  struggle,  and  seizes  Dawker's 
hands,  which  have  reached  Horxblower's 
throat.  Jill,  who  is  following ^  rushes  up  to 
him  and  clutches  his  arm. 
Jill.  Rolf !    All  of  you  !    Stop !    Look ! 

Dawker's  hand  relaxes,  and  he  is  strung 
round.  Horxblower  staggers  and  recovers 
himself,  gasping  for  breath.  All  turn  to  the 
vnndowy  outside  which  in  the  moonlight  Hill- 
crist and  Charles  Horxblower  have 
Chloe's  motionless  body  in  their  arms. 
In  the  gravel  pit.     She's  just  breathing;  that's  all. 


114  THE  SKIN  GA]ME  act  m 

Mrs.  H.  Bring  her  in.     The  brandy,  Jill ! 
HoRXBLowER.  No.     Take  her  to  the  car.     Stand 
back,  young  woman !     I  want  no  help  from  any  of  ye. 
Rolf — Chearlie — take  her  up. 

They  lift  and  hear  her  away.  Left.  Jill  fol- 
lows. 
Hillcrist,  ye've  got  me  beaten  and  disgraced  here- 
abouts, ye've  destroyed  my  son's  married  life,  and 
ye've  killed  my  grandchild.  I'm  not  staying  in  this 
cursed  spot,  but  if  ever  I  can  do  you  or  yours  a  hurt, 
I  will. 

Dawker.  [Muttering]    That's  right.        Squeal  and 
threaten.     You  began  it. 

Hillcrist.  Dawker,    have    the    goodness!    Horn- 
blower,  in  the  presence  of  what  may  be  death,  with  all 
my  heart  I'm  sorry. 
Horxblower.  Ye  hj-pocrite ! 

He  fosses  them  with  a  certain  dignity,  and  goes 

out  at  the  window,  following  to  his  car. 
Hillcrist,  who  has  stood  for  a  moment  stock- 
stiU,  goes  sloidy  forward  and  sits  in  his  stoivel 
chair. 
^Irs.  H.  Dawker,  please  tell  Fellows  to  telephone  to 
Dr.  Robinson  to  go  round  to  the  Hornblowers  at  once. 
Dawker,  fingering  the  deed,  and  with  a  noise 
that  sounds  like  "The  cur!"  goes  out,  Left. 
[At  the  fireplace]  Jack!    Do  you  blame  me? 
Hillcrist.  [Motionless]  No. 
Mrs.  H.  Or  Dawker.^     He's  done  his  best. 
Hillcrist.  No. 
INIrs.  H.  [Approaching]  What  is  it  ? 


sc.  II  THE  SKIN  GAIME  115 

HiLLCRiST.  Hj-pocrite! 

[Jill  comes  running  in  at  the  icindow. 
Jill.  Dodo,  she's  moved;  she's  spoken.     It  may  not 
be  so  bad. 
Hillceist.  Thank  God  for  that ! 

[Fellows  erders.  Left. 
Fellows.  The  Jackinans,  ma'am. 
HiLLCRisT.  Who  ?     ^Mlat's  this  ? 

The  jACKJkLOs's  have  erUeredy  standing  close  to 
the  door. 
Mrs.  J.  We're  so  glad  we  can  go  back,  sir — ma'am, 
we  just  wanted  to  thank  you. 

There  is  a  silence.     They  see  thai  they  are  not 
welcome. 
Thank  you  kindly,  sir.     Good-night,  ma'am. 

[They  shuffle  md. 
HiLLCRiST.  I'd  forgotten  their  existence.  [He  gets  up] 
What  is  it  that  gets  loose  when  you  begm  a  fight,  and 
makes  you  what  you  think  you're  not.'  ^^^lat  blind- 
ing evil!  Begin  as  you  may,  it  ends  in  this — skin 
game !     Skin  game ! 

Jill.  [Rushing  to  hiui]  It's  not  you,  Dodo;  it's  not 
you,  beloved  Dodo. 

HiLLCRisT.  It  is  me.  For  I  am,  or  should  be,  mas- 
ter in  this  house! 

;Mrs.  H.  I  don't  understand. 

HiLLCRiST.  ^^^len  we  began  this  fight,  we  had  clean 
hands— are  they  clean  now.'  What's  gentility  worth 
if  it  can't  stand  fire.' 

CURTAIN 


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